The Prince of Dorne
by DiscordantSymphony
Summary: His father's mind, his grandmother's ambition, his great-uncle and namesake's honour, his uncle's skill at arms and his aunt's compassion. He will use all the weapons he has been given and earned to bring justice to those who has wronged his house. Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken. This is the story of Lewyn Martell.
1. Prologue

The Prince of Dorne

Prologue

The shadow city of Sunspear was as silent as it could only be at full dark, shadows breeding in every corner and cut purses waiting for unwary to come by and rob them of their coins. But the silence that fell on the city that clung to the walls of Sunspear could not be said to reflect the turmoil that brewed in the Old Place, nestled in the centre of the great seat of House Martell, the screams that echoed inside it's walls were testament enough to that.

Another scream from the birthing chamber sent a shiver down Doran's spine, what a terrible feeling it was. To wait outside while his lady wife struggled to bring their first child, his heir, into the world. Mellario had been so brave through out all of it, she had been walking around the old palace and even as short as the last week had been going down to the shadow city to find new bolts of silk and meeting with her favourite seamstress.

It had only been during the last few days that she had seemed to truly feel that she was with child, she had been more and more tired as of late and it caused him a great deal of worry. And this morning when they had been laying in bed and she had woke him, screaming and shaking him and telling him that she had her waters and that the time had come.

It had all been such a rush after that he could not recall how they had ended up where they were, what he did recall was that the first time that he had glanced out the window, the sun was still hanging high in the sky and the sky itself was the most beautiful blue that had ever seen. Now the moon hung fat in the sky, the King's Crown blazing in the sky and Nymeria's star threatened to outshine them all as she lead her ten thousand ships across the sky.

A strong hand came down on his shoulder and he turned his head to see to see Oberyn, giving him a smile that he imagined was meant to be comforting. Doran might have found it more so if his brother didn't look so pale at the moment. He enjoyed making bastards, the way his brother had...indulged himself, there was no doubt that he had one or two scattered about the corners of the world, but he had never heard a woman birth anymore than he had.

Oberyn was their mother's last child and Doran had been away at the Salt Shore, serving as a squire when their mother had brought Elia and then Oberyn into the world. It was a new thing for the both of them and Doran had tried, he had tried to be ready for this. Many candles had burned down to nothing for his efforts as he read into the night, accounts of maesters and midwives and septas all of whom had attended births to be ready.

But reading was one thing, dealing with it as it happened was quite another. He had wanted to be inside the chamber when it happened, he wanted to hold Mel's hand and kiss her brow and comfort her through all the pain and promise that it would all be over soon, even though the septon and the maester and the midwives and even his own mother said that it would not right for a man other than a maester to be in the birthing chamber, he had argued, said that he would.

But when the time had come, all the strength had left him and now he could only pace back and forth as he waited for it all to be over. He patted the top of Oberyn's hand to show some appreciation for the attempt at comfort before he began to resume pacing. He only stopped when a loud shriek, louder than any of the others he had heard this endless day which made all the blood drain from his face.

The world fell silent for a few moment and each moment seemed to last an eternity, the door opened and his mother stepped out. As always her eyes were fill with wisdom and kindness as she looked at him and he thanked every god that he knew of that he saw no pity or sadness in the gaze as she looked at him. "It's time to come in."

Doran breathed deep and stepped forward in the room, Elia was sitting next to the bed and she yielded up her seat with a smile when she stood and walked over to stand by Oberyn and their mother while the maester and the midwives busied themselves with cleaning the room and left not long after. Doran sat down in the chair, though he would not deny that he would have sunk to the floor at the enormity he felt when he saw the bundle of swaddling that his lady wife held so close to her chest.

Mellario looked at him and smiled, her amber eyes alight with joy even as tears ran down her cheeks. She sniffled only once, brushed away her tears with her free hand and handed the swadalling over to him with a sigh. "My lord, your son and your heir is born."

Doran looked down at the tiny brown face, amber eyes staring up at him with complete and utter trust and wonder, for what choice did a precious little thing like this have? Who was so delicate and born into a world with so many men who would not hesitate to end such a life if they felt that they had too, or because their lord commanded it or simply because they felt like it.

He swore then and there that he would keep his son safe, he promised. He held out his finger and when his son's tiny hand came up to clench around his finger, the love he felt at that moment grew more than anything that he could ever expect. He pressed a kiss to the top of the babe's head and then lifted his head, leaned forward and kissed Mellario deeply, he would cup her cheek but he did not dare in case he would drop the child. He pulled away and smiled, feeling no shame in the tears he knew that he was weeping. "Thank you my love, thank you."

His mother chose her moment then, he saw her pride and her love for her first grandchild but he also saw the satisfaction in her dark eyes that she knew another link in the chain of succession was securer, well, stronger at the very least. Doran knew that his duty was not done yet, he and Mellario would need to have more children but he saw no issue with that, they were both young and certainly not without eagerness. "I trust that I do not need to tell you that the both of you will need to have a name for the little prince, sooner rather than later if my opinion matters anything to you."

It always had but the matter of the name had been a great deal of debate for both of them, they had discussed a great many options of course. Nymeria was the most obvious choice had it been a girl, or Meria. Arianne for Mel's mother and Loreza for his. For boys, well Mors and Olyvar in tribute to the two brothers that he had never known, Trystane for his own late father or Darius for Mel's. But now as he stared down at the tiny babe, none of the names they had thought of seemed to suit him.

The hours passed with all of them suggesting one name and yet none seemed to fit, Oberyn was the first to leave, his little brother never being one for patience though when he did leave he left with a jape to send a raven when they did finally decide. Elia grew tired and begged their leave, their mother leaving not long after her. Soon it was just them.

The babe had fallen asleep by then, Mel japing that it was almost as though he had thought that he had been the one to do all the work. Doran laughed but he soon found that the lack of a name coming to him filled him with an unease. He closed his eyes and tried to think of the right word, surely it would come to him in time. Almost like a lightening bolt, it came to him.

"Lewyn." He almost didn't realise that he said it out loud, only when his wife looked at him did he realise that he had given his words voice. "I think it will suit him well enough."

"Your uncle's name?" Mel glanced down at the babe and then shrugged. "It's a fine name, and we do need to call him something. Yes, Lewyn. I like it."

"Then Lewyn it shall be." Doran said with a proud smile, cupping the babe's head.

End of Prologue.

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 **Welp, here's another one. So, the Starks and the Baratheons always seem to get an elder son or daughter OC to get inserted into stories, I should know as I have done both so why not the Martells as well?**

 **Anyway, please leave a review if you enjoyed.**

 **With much love,**

 **Doctorwhofan12345.**


	2. Chapter 1

The Prince of Dorne

Chapter One

The worst day of his life dawned on Dorne as any day ever did, bright and beautiful. The sound of wooden training spears filled his ears, every muscle in his body was sore and aching. But that was nothing new to him, every day since he had turned four had ended with him being sore and aching and tired. His uncle Oberyn's lessons demanded no less from him.

Obara was his cousin but she held nothing back when it came to fighting him, she was bigger and stronger than him though she had not trained as long as he had when it came to the spear. But alas, that was only in the matter of years. He had been learning how to be a ruler as well, how to add numbers in his head and politics while all the while, Obara had spent every second of every day, devoted to her spear.

The wooden spears became looked with one another and Lewyn tried to push her over but it was like trying push a bolder up a hill by himself, Obara would not be moved. Obara stared at him for a moment, let out a laugh, and spat in his eye. Lewyn let out a cry and stumbled back, the wooden spear swing at his feet knocking him to the ground and the point digging into his stomach made him groan. "You cheated!"

"And now, you are a dead man, little Prince." Obara pulled her spear back and tossed it into the air for a moment, catching it with one hand. "Some would call what I did dishonourable, but I would chose victory over honour every time. Make sure that you do as well." With that Obara tossed her spear aside and stalked back inside the Water Gardens.

Lewyn laid their groaning for a time until his uncle came to help him up. "Obara is right you know, honour is all well and good. But it doesn't matter if honour causes you to lose a battle. Honour, is not worth your life." His uncle mussed his hair up and Lewyn let out a noise, a mixture of both confusion and complaint as he considered what his uncle met.

"But great uncle Lewyn always says that honour is the most important thing in the world." He spoke, his tongue darting back into his mouth and instinctively going to where the empty socket in his gum was from where Obara had hit him in the face. Papa and Mama had both been so furious, at Uncle Oberyn and Obara as well and they almost made him stop training but it had been Uncle Lewyn who had told them that little boys were always going to get bruises, princely ones needed them.

Mama had still been unhappy about it but Papa had conceded and the training went on, but he always ended the days with bruises on top of bruises but he didn't really mind so much, each bruise was a lesson and the more he tried, the less bruises he always had and he had even started to give Obara some of her own, though he hadn't as of yet been able to knock any of her teeth out. "Except Family, that's what he always said."

His uncle nodded and knelt in front of him. "Family is all that matters, you need to remember that. You need to keep your Lady Mother and your sister safe. But what you also need to do, is make sure that your Father remembers that. At the moment, he doesn't seem to care much at all." Lewyn frowned, he knew what his uncle was speaking off.

When Uncle Oberyn came back from the tourney at Harrenhal, spitting venom about how Aunt Elia's husband had dishonoured her in front of all the great lords and ladies in all of Westeros. When he had heard it, he had been so angry. Aunt Elia was sweet and kind and so pretty and the thought of someone hurting her filled him with anger.

Uncle Obeyn's anger hadn't died and he remembered recalling that he could do with a nap but no matter how he slept, his anger only grew. It only got worse when word came that Aunt Elia's husband had ran off with a woman who was betrothed to another man. Lewyn didn't know who the woman was, but whoever she was he knew that he hated her as much as he hated Aunt Elia's husband.

He didn't know much, but he knew that the next word that came from North of the mountains was war. His Father had sent birds to all of Dorne and raised a host of ten thousand men which he had sent marching up the Kingsroad not a week ago when the King had commanded him to do so. That made Uncle Oberyn even angrier, he had told father that he should have sent more men and himself to command, His father replied that men were still needed in Dorne and so was his uncle.

When word came back that almost all those men had died on the banks of the Red Fork, well, it only made to make Uncle Oberyn angrier and Father more detached. The death of Great Uncle Lewyn, who had been placed in command of the Dornish host, had stung as well. And now Aunt Elia was all alone, trapped in the Red Keep with his baby cousins and without any family to protect her.

He opened his mouth to defend his papa, for really what could he do? He could raise another host in time but it wouldn't be any larger than the first and if they all died then there would be no more men that he could send North but before he could speak, a man in livery appeared, painting from being out of breath. "My princes, you are both required to attend Prince Doran in his solar, at once."

Uncle Oberyn frowned but held out his hand for Lewyn to take as the walked inside and through the halls of the Water Gardens, he had never known the gardens to be devoid of laughter but now that most in Dorne had known someone who had marched, the laughter and the smiles had been replaced with sniffles and tears and it seemed to him at that time, that the joy would never come back.

Mother was waiting for them outside of Father's solar, holding Arianne in her arms and crying silently as he held his baby sister tightly. She looked up and gestured for Lewyn to come to her. He went over to her and she pulled him into a hug and Lewyn felt a kiss being pressed to the top of his head. Uncle Oberyn and Mother spoke for a time a time but he couldn't make any of it out as he felt Arianne tugging at his curls. "Papa sad." She whispered. He frowned and held her hand tightly.

He heard his Father's solar door open and Uncle Oberyn stepping inside and closing it behind him. For a few moments, there was only the sound of talking from behind the door and then he heard a scream that sounded more like a man than the animal and the sound of something shattering against the floor and the door slammed open and he heard someone storming off, but when he tried to pull away to look at who it was, Mother held him even tighter as the footsteps faded into the distance.

His Mother pressed another kiss to the top of his head and she tilted his face up to look at her, their amber eyes locking on to one another. She sniffled and gave him a wobbly smile. "Go and speak with your father, my Love. Be brave. Be brave." She almost pleaded and Lewyn frowned when his mother let go of him and held Arianne that little bit tighter.

Lewyn turned and walked over to the solar, for the first time in his life he was afraid of going to speak with his Father. He was sitting at his desk, a pitcher of wine smashed on the ground. His head was buried in his hands and when he looked up from them, his eyes were red and tears were rolling down his cheeks. "Son, sit down."

Lewyn walked over to the chair and sat down at it, his stomach felt like it was a giant pit as he stared at his Father. He never felt more afraid in his entire life. "What's happened?"

His Father's lips quivered for a moment and he had to close his eyes and Lewyn watched as he seemed to gather his strength before he spoke again. "A few nights ago, King's Landing was sacked by Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock, King Aerys was killed by one of his own knights, Lord Tywin's son. But Lewyn, your Aunt Elia and her children...they were killed."

The world ended then and there, the news had killed him in a matter of moments since he heard it. There was no way that the pain he wasn't feeling at that moment couldn't kill him. He felt his shoulders shaking and a pair of arms wrapping around him and holding him close as he sobbed and screamed and begged for it to all be over.

He was going to kill them all. He was going to kill them all. He promised, he promised Aunt Elia who used to rest him on her lap when he was younger and fed him slices of blood oranges, he promised Rhaenys who he remembered holding like she was the most precious thing in the world, he promised Aegon who he never had the chance to met.

And he promised himself as well, all the pain he felt would be nothing compared to what he was going to bring on to those that had hurt him, his own and who profited from their pain.

He promised.

End of Chapter One

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 **Please follow, favourite and review if you enjoyed. The next chapter will be a time skip, quite a large one.**

 **With much love,**

 **DiscordantSymphony**


	3. Chapter 2

The Prince of Dorne

Chapter Two

Sansa smiled brightly as she watched the great host of the King's ride through the gates of Winterfell, it was like something out of a song. The kingsguard were resplendent all in white, their cloaks bellowing in the cold breeze. The Queen's magnificent wheelhouse trundled through the gates and the sight of it stole Sansa's breath away, it almost looked like a little castle on wheels and at that moment all she wanted was to be inside, reclining against feather pillows and eating lemon cakes and drinking sweet mint tea.

She couldn't think of anything that she would enjoy more and when she saw the Queen step out of the wheelhouse she knew that all her dreams were going to come true, she was tall and beautiful and dressed in a gown of heavy gold and crimson samite and Sansa knew right at the moment that she saw it that she wanted a dress just like it.

The dress she was wearing was pretty enough, she supposed but it was very simple in comparison to what the queen was wearing. It was a soft blue velvet that was good for keeping out the cold but it was undecorated and not one of her favourites, she had wished that she could have worn the blue silk or maybe even the green and gold brocade that she had gotten when her Lord Father had last taken them all to White Harbour but she wasn't allowed to wear it unless it was for a very special occasion.

But what could be a more special occasion than the king and the queen visiting with all of the royal court in attendance? It felt like a thousand butterflies were fluttering about inside of her stomach. She did her best not to let it show, a true lady was never nervous and if she was she never did herself the dishonour of letting it show. No matter how hard it was and at the moment it was the hardest thing that she had ever done.

A flood of men and women, ten afoot for every one that was ahorse, stormed through the gates like a wave. There were men dressed in lambswool and cotton and others in silk and samite and velvets. One man caught her eye, he was riding on the most beautiful horse that she had ever seen with a mane of fine golden hair and coat of pure white fur that looked as soft as silk and for a moment all Sansa wanted to do was to go over to it and run her fingers through it's mane, it looked so soft and pretty as well.

Her attention was so drawn away from the fine horse and it's rider when the King strode up to them, Sansa could not deny that she was more than a little disappointed. They had all heard the stories about him of course, and she remembered all the songs that were sung of him whenever rarely a singer would come this far North.

The young king, the black Stag, the Rebel King, the Demon of the Trident and the Slayer of Dragons who had risen up in Rebellion against a mad and cruel king who burned his subjects alive for the slightest of crimes, who fought to rescue his lady love from the cruel prince who had abducted her on her way to her brother's side, the man who had slain said prince in single combat.

Sansa would have been in awe of that man, a song come to life in front of her. Sadly, that was not the king that was in front of her. He was fat with a mane of black hair and a large, bushy black beard. He looked more like he was a bear than an actual king but Sansa still smiled and curtsied when the king addressed her and told her how pretty she was, even though she wanted to frown and turn away from him when she caught a whiff of strongwine drifting off of him.

How a Father could be so different from his son, she couldn't understand. Prince Joffery was tall, handsome and golden with plump lips and brilliant green eyes. She was certain that she had never seen anyone so beautiful in her entire life and when he turned his head to look at her from atop his horse and smiled at her, she couldn't help the blush from breaking out on her skin. How wonderful it would be, to be his wife. She would be the Queen one day, would sit by his side and give him beautiful golden children. Her son would be king.

The King went off somewhere with Father, she heard him say something about the crypts and the Queen scowled and tried to talk him into resting but the King ignored his queen and went off with her Lord Father down to the crypts while her Mother spoke out and invited everyone to make themselves at home and to enjoy the comforts of Winterfell.

Before Sansa turned and when back inside she saw the Ser Jaime take his sister by the arm and walked her away with him, though in the throng of the crowd moving into Winterfell she lost sight of them. She also saw the rider of the beautiful horse handing it's reins over to a stable boy and pressing a golden coin into his hands before he took of his copper helm, reviling his face to her which up to now had been obscured from view.

The first thing that she noticed, was that he was clearly a Dornishman. His skin was a dark olive and his head was topped with black curls that tumbled down to the nape of his neck. His eyes were the colour of warm honey and he had long legs and long arms. The man must have felt his eyes on her and turned his head in his direction and smiled at her.

Sansa blushed and waited for the man to come over to her, it would be rude to walk away. Once the man had made sure that his horse was taken care over he strode over to her and bowed to her. "My Lady, I am honoured to meet you. I am Lewyn Martell, a Prince of Dorne and the heir of Sunspear." He spoke the Common tongue, but the hints of the Rhoynis tongue was thick in his speech. Sansa found that she liked it however, it made every word sound almost like it was sung.

She couldn't deny she was surprised though, Dorne had supported the King during the Rebellion and she couldn't think why the heir to Dorne would be serving in the Court of King Robert. "My lord, I hope that you find Winterfell to your liking. If you would like to head to the great hall, there will be meat and mead to warm you from the cold."

"My Lady is too kind by far but I fear I am not hungry, I shall wait for the feast tonight. Thank you for speaking with me." And with that, Prince Lewyn strode away from her with long strides and he joined the throng that was moving into the castle. Once he was gone, Sansa found that all thought of him drifted from her mind like smoke and she turned to make her own way into the castle.

The feast was to be tonight, and if Sansa wanted to be a queen then she would need to make herself extremely beautiful to truly capture the attention of the Prince, the real and true prince. The only one that mattered to her.

End of Chapter Two.

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 **Hello Everyone, I know that it's been a while and that this a short chapter after so long await but this is really only meant to demonstrate how much time has actually passed since our last chapter and for Sansa to give us her perspective on the royal family and on Lewyn himself.**

 **The next chapter will be from Lewyn's perspective and will answer, I hope, some of the questions you might be having.**

 **If you enjoyed, please leave a review, a follow and a favourite.**

 **With much love and endless appreciation,**

 **DiscordantSymphony**


	4. Chapter 3

The Prince of Dorne

Chapter Three

The warmth of the chamber made a welcome change to the endless cold that had been forced to ride through, when it hadn't been snowing it had been raining almost endlessly it had seemed to him. He wasn't sure how anyone could expect to survive in this, let alone thrive in it. Still, he imagine that for the people of the North, how anyone could live in Dorne would be just as strange if not more so to them.

Still, Lewyn was a man of Dorne with the blood of Nymeria and Mors Martell in his veins and he was used to a certain warmth. Winterfell itself was beautiful, a grand seat fit for a Lord Paramount. But it was cold as the deepest of the seven hells and the warmth of the chamber was much appreciated, as was the loaf of bread, the pots of butter, honey and blackberry and strawberry preserves.

A fully belly made any number of things a great deal more bearable. The flagon of ale was less welcome, it was so thick with yeast that he had to chew on a few mouthfuls to get it down and he found all that he wanted was a glass of Dornish Red, some strong wine that was as sweet as it was strong but he had not brought any skins with him and he did not wish to seem rude by turning down Lord Stark's ale.

The next cup was far more tolerable than the first had been thankfully and once that one was finished, Lewyn took a moment to actually examine his chambers. They were very fine, slightly larger than the chambers that he held in the capital. Sweet smelling rushes covered the floor and a large chamber pot was set next to his bed, a large fire was roaring away in the hearth.

Lewyn closed the shutters and made sure that they were firmly latched before sitting down on the bed and resting his head on the plump pillows, he was unused to furs. In Dorne, most covers were silk or cotton, in the night when the cold airs began to blow on to them, they were replaced with velvet covers instead. The furs were certainly fine enough to keep out the chill, the Northmen wore them as well during their day, but they were itching against his skin and he was fairly sure that there were some bugs living in it as well.

At any rate, he didn't want to sleep yet. His muscles were still aching from the long ride and so with a groan he pushed himself up and called out to the serving man that the Starks had so kindly assigned to him. He asked him to have a bath made for him and the servant nodded before going off to see to that.

There was all ready a heavy iron tub in the room and soon enough two women, one slightly older than he was and one younger than him. They each carried a heavy pewter jug full of steaming water, both of them emptied their jug into the tub and Lewyn gave thanks before he began to strip out of his clothes. The younger girl turned as red as scorpion and fled from the room.

The older girl did not, she simply smiled and stepped closer to him. She was very pretty, long black hair that was tied into a braid which went down to her lower back, warm chestnut coloured eyes and plump red lips which stood out against her skin that was almost paler than the snow that was currently falling to the ground. "Would you like some company my Lord?"

He couldn't deny it, he was tempted. The girl was lovely and it had been a long journey and the thought of a warm bath, a soft bed and a beautiful girl to help him relax was like something out of a dream. But, despite really wanting too, he was the future Prince of Dorne after all and while Uncle Oberyn and his brothers and sister had more freedom when it came to matters such as this, he didn't. Father would be so disappointed.

"It is a tempting offer Goodwoman, but sadly I must turn it down." The servant gave a pout at the words, and the unspoken dismissal, but still she left. Once the door was closed Lewyn sunk into the warm water of the bath with a heavy sigh, enjoying the warmth of the water relaxing his muscles. Lewyn's eyes fluttered shut for a few moments as he simply allowed himself a moment to relax.

He knew he couldn't stay there of course, otherwise he would simply fall asleep and drown himself in the bath and he did not want to be the cause of a feud between Sunspear and Winterfell, even if both seats were thousands and thousands of miles apart and he wouldn't be alive to worry about it. Once he had gotten out of the tub, dried himself off and got dressed in his night robes, he set to work writing letters.

He stared with one to his mother, so very far away in Norvos. She had fled back to her home after his Father had sent Quentyn away to ward with the Yronwoods, Lewyn remembered how enraged she had been even back then, when poor Tyrstane had barely been more than a babe in arms. His heart had broken when his Mother had announced she was leaving, he had wanted to stop her, to throw himself at her feet and beg her to stay, to cling to her skirts, to even go with her.

But he couldn't, he was the heir to Sunspear and the future of Dorne, he could not afford to humiliate himself in such a way. Arianne had cried enough for both of them, she had wept and had cursed their father as he wished that he could. But no, Lewyn had shared a far too brief hug with his mother, pressed a kiss to her cheek and then just like that she was gone, she had left him.

They maintained a correspondence even now, but the distance made it difficult. Birds were far more likely to get lost or die crossing the sea, few of their messages made it to the other. Even so, that would never stop Lewyn from trying to do so. He wrote of the journey, of arriving at Winterfell, he wrote of Ari, Quent and Tyrs so she would know how each of her children were going and of course he asked for details on her life.

As soon as his mother's letter was sealed, he turned his attentions on the others. One for each of his siblings, one for Ari promising that he would be home as soon as he could and he would try and help her with convincing their Father to make a better match for her. His sister needed to be wed, he knew that and so did Arianne but the matches that were being made for her?

Lewyn could not care for Arianne one whit, he could resent her existence, but even if all of that were so he would never let any sister of his be married to Walder Frey. Thankfully, none of that was true and he would not let his beloved sister, his best friend, be married to that vile old man. The alternatives his Father suggested had not been much better, Old Lord Estermont was a good man and a grandfather of the King but Arianne would be bored to tears, Lord Rosby was a cougher and too lowly in position for a princess of Dorne and Lord Beesbury had died before he even met Ari.

His sister had said no to all of them, as Lewyn knew that she would. He didn't know what his Father was doing, he had to know that Arianne would always say no to such old men. He remembered a time when Lord Hoster of Riverrun had sent a bird to Dorne suggesting a match between his son and heir and Arianne. Lewyn loathed the idea of his sister marrying anyone who had a hand, indirectly or not, in getting his Aunt and cousins killed, but he had been more open to the idea once he saw how happy it had made her.

And after three days of waiting, Prince Doran sent back a letter giving his thanks but declining. His sister was then offered another old man as husband, Lewyn had to imagine that if he was a woman and not the firstborn, that he would feel just as frustrated. He swore his vows of aid on the paper and quickly sealed it.

The letters to his brothers were shorter, it had been hard to bond with Quent since he had been sent to Lord Yronwood to ward when he was just a boy and Lord Anders had been more a father to his brother than Prince Doran himself had ever been. Trystane was a sweet and dutiful lad, and clever than he let on, but there was too big an age gap to truly be close to one another. All the same, he promise Quent he would come and see him as soon as he could and that Trystane and he would have a game of Cyvasse when he next came to Sunspear.

The final letter to be written was one to his Father, it was short, quick and to the point. His Father would not care about the details of his journey, he would want to know about what he had seen and heard and what would be important to them. The letter was done and sealed the quickest out of the lot of them, he would have them sent off in the morning.

He placed the letters in one of the drawers of the desk and stood up and made his way to the bed, he climbed under the furs and shut his eyes. He hoped that he wouldn't dream, he didn't pray. He hadn't prayed since the day his Father had told him what had happened to Auntie Elia.

For once his hopes had been answered, he had shut his eyes, didn't dream once and after what seemed like only a few moments, he opened them again to see pale slivers of daylight creeping through the shutters of the room. The airs was filled the sound of yells from below, of metal being hammered in the forge and there was the smell of fresh bread.

Lewyn got up and changed into day robes and picked up a warm fur that his servants in King's Landing had seen fit to pack for him which he had to be more grateful for, he wrapped the fur around him and stepped out of the room. He decided to make his ways to the kitchens first, he got turned around twice and had to ask for directions but soon enough he was pointed in the right direction and his nose did the rest of the work.

He got some funny looks from the cook and the kitchen servants, it didn't surprise him of course. After Rebellion, most Dornishmen had fled back south to their home and very few made it this far North. Still, aside from a not too quiet mutter of how strange and dark he looked, there was no open hostility which was something at the very least.

To fill his belly he was given two small fried fish, bacon burned black, two boiled duck eggs and half a loaf of bread that was fresh from the oven. Once the plate had been scrapped clean, he gave his thanks and walked into the courtyard. The cold wasn't biting, but it was ever present. He walked through the courtyard, thinking intently until he finally saw some people that he recognised.

He had seen Robb Stark in the line up when the King had arrived, he favoured his Tully mother over his father with red hair and blue eyes, he didn't even take much from his Father in terms of the structure of his face. He was broad though, and tall as well. His bastard brother was slimmer and dark where his brother was fair, they had not been introduced as of yet but he had saw the boy standing in a place where he was out of sight and he looked so much like Lord Stark, that it was the most obvious conclusion.

The other boy was a mystery to him, he had dark hair and pale skin and a smirk on his face that suggest that he always got what he wanted, as he got closer Lewyn noticed the pin that kept his cloak in place, shaped like a kraken and done in gold. Ah, there it was. Lord Stark had taken the last Greyjoy son as a ward as punishment for his Father's rebellion, and a guarantee to make sure that he wouldn't do it again.

"Well meet to all of you, I am Prince Lewyn of Dorne." His voice must have come to a shock, whatever they had been talking about must have been very engaging as it had kept them busy to the point that he hadn't seen him coming. "Your Lord Robb aren't you? Lord Stark's son?"

"Yes, my lord. My prince, I mean." Robb Stark spoke with a smile that he imagined was going to get some girls into trouble, assuming that Robb Stark took after his infamous Uncle Brandon. And was that way inclined. "I am Robb, this is Theon Greyjoy, my Father's ward." The Greyjoy bent his head to him. "And this is Jon Snow, my Father's bastard."

"A pleasure to meet all of you, I hope that I am not interrupting but I was in the middle of exploring Winterfell and then I saw the three of you speaking with one another, I thought I would come over and say hello."

"Theon and I were about to do some sparring, if you would like to watch my Prince. Or perhaps take part?" Robb suggested as he walked over to the sword rack and picked out two wooden swords and handed one over to Theon. It had been a long time since he hadn't spared with live steel, so he decided to simply sit and watch. Sitting on a wooden barrel next to the bastard of Winterfell as the two highborns began, being watched over by the grizzled old Master-At-Arms.

"I've never been to Dorne." Lewyn had been so busy watching Robb and Theon step around one another that he almost feel of the barrel in shock when he heard Jon Snow talk. Lewyn turned his attention from the match to Jon himself. "I've never actually left Winterfell, aside from going to the Winter's Town or to go on hunts. What's it like?"

"Hot, as hot as the North is cold." Lewyn spoke as he made himself more comfortable. "We have little grass, only some along the coast line. Much of the rest of Dorne is an endless desert, but the Greenblood river is the most beautiful river in the world. The poleboats of the orphans are richly decorated, a thousand different colours that shine in the light. And up in the mountains, there are waterfalls and rivers and cold lakes. Dorne is Dorne."

"I have read about it, in the book about the Young Dragon's conquest." Jon spoke, leaning closer as he did so. "I always wanted to go and see the goat path that he walked, to slip past the sentries and the watch towers."

"He was a hero of yours I take it?" When Jon nodded Lewyn let out a sigh. "Well, let me give you some advice Jon. If you do happen to go to Dorne, maybe do not speak of the Young Dragon so glowingly. We are not fond of him in Dorne as the rest of the six kingdoms are, and to another matter, do not trust all that you read. There was a goat trail, but it was ships that won that war."

Jon frowned at his words. "Perhaps, but he still managed to conquer Dorne even without Dragons." His eyes went wide, clearly remembering who he was speaking too. "I am sorry my Prince, I don't mean to be rude."

"It is quite alright Jon, don't worry. Some with hotter heads than I might have stabbed you in the eye by now, thankfully my head couldn't be cooler in a place like that. And yes, he did manage to conquer us. Most Dornish won't deny that, but note Jon that we did not stay conquered very long. As soon as the Young Dragon had left, the Rebellions had begun."

Suddenly there was a debate, the lad was smart. Every now and then he stumbled over his words, as if he remembered again his status and who he was speaking too but Lewyn did naught but encourage him. He was well read as well, seemed to be able to remember whole passages from the Conquest of Dorne without needing to go and find said book.

Lewyn did not feel like breaking the boy's image of his hero quite yet, so he did not point out some of the obvious mistakes that the Young Dragon had made or the fact he was a terrible bragged. Dorne never had the numbers that the Targaryen had suggested they had, but if he made the threat seemed bigger then his victory seemed all the more impressive.

Their conversation came to a sudden end when they heard a grunt and turned back to see that Theon Greyjoy was flat on his back, cradling his wrist with an indignant pout on his face. Ser Rodrik gave an approving nod and then glanced up at the covered bridge above them. "Thoughts my Lord?"

"It was a well struck blow Robb." The voice was like something out of one of his dreams, Lewyn didn't realise he was moving until he had jumped off of the barrel and was almost standing next to the Master-At-Arms and following his gaze.

And there he was, the Usurper's dog, Eddard Stark with his frozen heart of ice. His grey eyes landed on him and Lewyn felt a shiver going up his spine but forced himself to speak. "Lord Stark, an honour to meet you. I am Prince Lewyn Martell, son of Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne."

For a moment, though only a brief one, Lewyn though that he saw Lord Stark's eyes widen, but if he had seen it then it was gone a heartbeat later. Eddard Stark nodded his head to him. "Prince Lewyn, I thought I saw you. I apologise for not greeting you personally but I am afraid that the king had demanded some of my time. I would like a word, might I invite you to my solar."

"My lord, nothing in this world would please me more." Lewyn began to make his way insides, his fingers curling into fists. This had been something that he had been waiting for.

End of Chapter Three

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 **Another chapter done, I hope everyone enjoyed this one and you have a clearer idea of who Lewyn is. Next chapter is the events in the Solar, but we switch perspectives.**

 **If you enjoyed this chapter, then please leave a review, a follow and some constructive criticism is always welcome.**

 **With much love and warmest regards,**

 **DiscordantSymphony**


	5. Chapter 4

The Prince of Dorne

Chapter Four

Ned did not think that he had ever spoken to a Prince of Dorne before, though he had seen Prince Oberyn at a few feasts once or twice and he had seen the Princess Elia as well when all the realms had been invited to attend her wedding to Prince Rhaegar as well as the Tourny at Harrenhal. She had seemed so very sad, even before her Prince had shamed her. Looking back, he wondered if she had known.

Prince Oberyn certainly had not, he remembered the rage that had been on his face as he saw the bodies of his sister and her children for the first time. The flesh had been stripped from their bones by the silent sisters by that point but even then the savagery of Ser Gregor Clegane was plain to see and Prince Oberyn had been enraged at the sight of the bones and for a moment Ned had thought that he might have attacked Robert but at the last moment before Ned thought he would have to call on the guards to act, Prince Oberyn turned on his feet and stormed out of the throne room without Robert's leave.

Prince Oberyn left the city without his sister or his niece and nephew's bones and Ned did not tarry long after he left either, Lyanna had greater need of him in that moment than Robert did and if he was to be utterly honest with himself as he strived to be with all of those around him then he could not claim that he approved of what had been done to the Princess and her babes either.

Something would have to have been done, he knew that but it did not have to be the butchery that had happened that day. The red cloaks that the babes had been wrapped in had hidden the blood but that had done little to hide the horror that had been made of Prince Aegon's head after the Mountain had smashed it into a wall in a rage.

The boy could have been sent to the Wall, he could have lived a life their and found honor of his own and to leave the Wall once vows were sworn meant death. The girl could have been placed in a Motherhouse, become a septa and maybe even become a member of the Most Devout in time. Their Mother could have returned to Dorne, could have wed again and had more children.

None of them had to die and yet all three of them had and Robert had not chastised Lord Tywin, nor the Kingslayer that was his son. He had only grinned when he saw the children and when Ned had protested, Robert had simply laughed like he had made a jest. "Babes? I see Dragonspawn." Ned had to leave then, had to go and find Lyanna before he did anything foolish.

Robert had not forbidden him to go, thank the gods for that. He wanted Lyanna back as well after all but he was to be King and had to remain in the capital and start the long work of sitching the Seven Kingdoms back togther. He had charged him with going to lift the siege on Storm's End however and Ned had wanted to protest but he knew that he couldn't.

So off he had rode to Storm's End as quickly as he could, wanting to see it quickly done. In truth, Mace Tyrell had not done much laying of a siege at all other than putting his armies outside the walls and waiting for the garrison to starve while he waged war against feast table in his tent. It had been bloodless though Tyrell had puffed up and made boasts he surrended the castle and Stannis and Renly were free, though starved.

Once that was done he attended to Lyanna, but he came to late when he finally reached her in that cursed tower. His sister died, in that room that smelled of roses. And Ned made his way back North, only stopping once to tell Robert of what had happened in the capital before carrying on his way. Robert could rage and curse, Ned just wanted to go home.

Since that day, he had not thought of Dorne. Oh, he had thought of Lya more and more as the days passed and the children grew and the tower did never leave him but he had not spared a thought to the land outside of it and now a Prince of that land was sitting across from him. There was little of his uncle in him, only the dark olive skin and dark curls named them as of the same blood.

Lewyn Martell, heir to Sunspear and the future Prince of Dorne was slimmer in the face than this uncle and with a noble nose, plump cheeks, and long limbs and while his uncle and his aunt's eyes had been black, his was the color of honey. A comely youth, to be certain and one he imagined had no shortage of young maidens making eyes at him but Ned knew nothing about him.

All he knew was that he had arrived with the rest of the royal court and that was very unusual, Ned did not much care for the games that they played at court but he did know that there had been no Dornishmen at court since Princess Elia and her babes had died, and they were not considered welcome since it was an open secret that Prince Oberyn had tried to raise Dorne for Prince Viserys who had fled across the sea with a few men and a baby sister.

Jon Arryn had stopped another Rebellion then when he had gone down to Dorne bringing Princess Elia's bones back to her home, her babes had been burned and buried on Dragonstone and that had been the end of that and the Dornishmen kept to themselves after that. Except for now, it seemed.

He had meant to ask Robert about the boy when they had both gone down to the crypts to visit Lya but Robert had barely given him time to speak of anything before he had sprung his offer of becoming Hand of the King on to him that he did not have time to ask any questions, not that he had none for certain that the boy was the heir to Dorne only that he was young, highborn and Dornish and he had a suspicioun that it had been him.

He had watched from a time from the covered bridge as Robb and Theon sparred with one another but in truth only one eye had been on them, the other had been on the young prince as he conversed with Jon. Robb had ever been kind to Jon and it seemed that the gods had heard his prayers in hoping that both boys would grow to be as close as brothers but Theon Greyjoy had never done the same, Theon was a trueborn son and his Father's heir and Jon was simply a bastard and it was always a point of conflict between the three.

But Prince Lewyn spoke to Jon freely, even to the point that the pair of them fell into a debate about the Young Dragon and the conquest of Dorne and while some might have taken great offence at a bastard even daring to speak to them, let alone debate with them but Prince Lewyn merely met his points, discussied them and dismantled them when he thought that Jon was wrong.

Ned had watched them and when Robb and Theon's sparring match had come to an end, he called down to compliment them on the match as well as the fineness of Robb's finishing blow before he had spoken to the Prince who had called back up to him, introducing himself and confirming his suspicions as to who he was. He then invited the lad to his solar and here they were.

"Let it never be said I lack for courtesy." Ned said as he picked the pitcher of fine dark ale off of his desk and filled a cup with it and handed it to Lewyn who took the cup with a word of thanks. "Though I am said to say that I have little Arbor Gold, nor any of your sour Dornish Reds. I am afraid that it is not often that they find their way to us."

"You need not go to any trouble for my sake, Lord Stark." Lewyn said with a smile, the boy knew his own courtsies well. He raised his cup to his lips and took a sip from it and Ned had to stop himself from smiling when he saw the shudder running through his body at the taste. He cleared his throat. "Very hearty, my Lord. May I ask what it is you wished to speak to me of?"

"I hope you will forgive a man his curosity, Prince Lewyn. I simply wonder why it is you've come with King Robert. I did not realise that the heir to Dorne was part of hius court and in fact, I didn't think there were any Dornishmen in the royal court at all."

"Does the new Hand have a problem with my presence in his court?" The Prince spoke again, and this time there was a hint of venom in his voice that both surprised Ned and made him frown. "Forgive me my Lord, but everyone knows why the King has come to see you, why else would he do so? I have been part of King Robert's court for a good long while now, I am to take this as an invitation to make myself scarce?"

"Not at all, I ask only out of curiousity." Ned kept his voice even as he stared at the younger boy, there was a temper there it seemed and for a moment he had looked like his uncle. "You are under no obligation to answer me, I simply wished to know."

The young Prince did have the good graces to look abashed and he cleared his throat. "Forgive me, my Lord. I truly did not mean to be rude to you, I am treated with certain...distrust, at the capital and it can be very hard to bare at times. I meant no disrespect to you."

"In truth, it was my Father's idea that I attended court. A prince must know more than just the Kingdom he is to rule, he must know friends and he must know any enemies he might have. King Robert welcomed me well enough even if the rest of the court has been more than a little cool and I have had a place at court for little more than half a year, does that sate your curiosity?" Lewyn asked as he placed his hands on his knees.

In truth, Ned did not know why he had brought the boy here to speak with him. Perhaps he had thought...He was getting older and with age came an endless thousand worries, like as not it was going to be nothing. "Yes, it does. Thank you for indulging me Prince Lewyn. I shall let you leave now."

Prince Lewyn nodded once again and stood from the chair and made his way over to the door when Ned called out for him. "A moment more, I beg you. Something I've just thought of, Lord Arryn, do you happen to know how he died?"

"The old Hand?" Lewyn asked with a frown. "He died of a fever, a sickness. I confess that I did not think to ask, he was an old man and sometimes old men get sick." His eyes softened slightly. "I am sorry my Lord, I shall leave you to your grief."

And like that he was gone and Ned frowned, Robert has said that it had been a sudden sickness but from his account it had been very sudden indeed. He did not like what he was thinking but Lewyn claimed to have come to court half a year ago and Dornishmen were well known to coat their weapons in poison to make them more leathal, dishonorable yes but the men of Dorne had never seemed to care.

Would it be so beyond their prince then to slip something into Jon's goblet? What reason would Dorne having for wanting Jon dead if that was the case, there was much that Ned did not know in that moment expect that he was certain enough of one thing.

He needed to find out what happened to Jon, he owed it to him and he owed it to Robert.

And if that meant swallowing his own poison and wearing the chain of the Hand...

So be it.

End of Chapter Four

* * *

 **Hello everyone, back with this story.**

 **I know it might be a bit short considering how long you've been waiting for a new chapter but it is what it is and I promise that as we get deeper into the story, the chapters will be longer. Just need to get all of the pieces into place.**

 **Next chapter will be a Sansa chapter, please consider leaving a review, a follow and a favourite.**

 **With love,**

 **DiscordantSymphony**


	6. Chapter 5

The Prince of Dorne

Chapter Five

Sansa did not think she had ever wept so much in her life as she had done in the past few weeks, when before Bran's fall she had been so happy. All she really knew of southern life was of the stories Mother had told her and she had always made it sound so perfect. Of how it was always warm even when the sun was hiding behind the clouds, and the sun itself was a golden sphere and so bright that it could hurt to look at, it sounded nothing like the pale sphere that Sansa always saw whenever she looked up at the grey Northern skies of her home.

It sounded beautiful, the rivers her Mother had described where she and her sister Lysa had swum in when the both of them were girls, Riverrun itself seemed like a castle just out of a song, with walls of white stone and towers tipped with blue stone. But one of her favorite stories had to be the one where her Mother and her sister and brother had gone with their uncle to Highgarden in the Reach for the harvest ball.

She clung to that story whenever Arya was being cruel to her, whenever she was spoiling everything or being rude to her or ruining her clothes that she had spent so much time making for herself. Sansa remembered one time that she had gotten some silk, it had been a gift from Lord Wyman, the Lord of White Harbor, for her nameday. The very nice letter he had sent with her gift told her that the silk had come all the way from Yi Ti that had come through the port of White Harbor and Sansa was certain she had never felt anything quite so soft.

Lord Wyman also said that a crate of the worms that had made the silk had come to White Harbor as well but that the North was told cold for them to survive, if they had then he would have sent them on as well so that Winterfell could always have had a supply of silk. It sounded wonderful even if Sansa didn't quite understand how worms, those ugly little pink things that dug through the mud and which Arya used to torment her by dropping a pile of them alongside dead leaves and mud into her bed, could make anything so precious and so beautiful.

But that didn't matter to her, the silk was a beautiful and precious gift and a part of her liked that it was the only sort that she was likely to get for a very long time. It made it seem that much more valuable to her and she would need to make something wonderful out of it, and so she had set to making herself a new dressed.

It had taken her half of a moon's turn to finally finish the dress, she had wanted it to be as perfect as possible. It was made of pure white silk and she had put embroidery on the sleeves in silver thread and it was a simple dress yes but it she had put so much hard work into it and she had found that she was quite proud of it.

She wanted to save it for a very special occasion and so when the harvest feast came around once again and all the Lords of the North began to make their way to Winterfell she promised herself that she would wear the dress for the first night of the feast. It was something she began to look forward to every night as she imagined everyone complimenting her.

It was going to be a perfect night and for a time it seemed that the world had decided to match everything that she had dreamed. Winterfell might not be the perfect castle that she had always dreamed of, not a Riverrun or a Highgarden but it would certainly do and there were even some lords young sons she found passing handsome that she would not mind being wed to.

On the first night of the celebration, she put her dress on and walked out into the feast hall all dressed in her new dress and so many had complimented her, men told her how beautiful she was and women congratulated her on her skills with a needle. She had danced with so many men and she had been so very happy.

And if she was happy, then of course Arya had to spoil it. She had at least gotten into a dress without much of a fight according to her mother and it was a shame that Arya hated wearing them so much, she could be pretty if she cared enough to try but sadly Arya never really cared to try and be pretty. She always seemed intent on trying to be a boy for some reason.

At the time, her thoughts hadn't been with Arya at all. She had everything she wanted in that moment and all of her thoughts had only been on how to not step any of her partner's feet, they all complimented her and her Lady Mother had been smiling so proudly from where she had sat next to her Lord Father, who did not look as proud of her but that was only because he was busy discussing some great matter of import with Lord Umber, who had the place of high honor at Lord Eddard's side for that night of the feast.

Everything had been so perfect up until the moment she had felt something warm and heavy collided with her stomach and she had not been able to stop a shriek from escaping out of her throat when she saw that a thick slice of steak and kidney pie, that had been covered with Gage the cook's ale gravy, had been thrown against her dress, the dark gravy already seeping into the silk, ruining it forever and Sansa brushed the pie off of her middle where it feel to the ground, becoming a splattered mess on the ground.

The tears had come quickly as she watched the stain turn darker and darker, each second as it dried faster, each second ensuring that the silk would be ruined and nothing would be able to get it out, no matter how hard any tried to scrub at it, it would simply stay ruined. A laugh made her look up from her and she Arya staring at her, her features screwed up as she laughed with her hands on stomach.

Everyone in the hall had been looking at her then, seeing how she had lost her composure over something as simple as a pie on her dress and when the tears started she found that she could not make them stop. She had turned on her heels and ran out of the hall even as both her Father and her Mother commanded her to return.

She had made her way to her bedchamber and barred the door from the inside and pulled off her dress and the ruined shift underneath as well and threw them into a corner before throwing herself down on to her bed and buried her face into her pillow and cried until her shoulders shook and her chest hurt. Her Septa knocked on the door and commanded her to come out but Sansa ignored her and just kept on crying.

When her Lady Mother came to her in her stead and commanded her to open the door, Sansa had calmed herself down enough that she could breath without it hurting her chest but she still did not want to open the door, all she wanted was to be left alone. But once her Lady Mother commanded her again to open the door or she would call her Lord Father and have him command her to open the door.

A dire feeling bloomed in her chest, like shame but a thousand times worse and Sansa had managed to get out from her bed and moved over to the door and removed the bar and opened the door and waited for the chastisement and promised herself that she would accept it with as much grace as possible, she had already made a fool of herself in front of all the lords of the North after all, nothing Mother could do would be worse than that.

But Mother had merely took her in her arms and brushed away her tears and pressed a kiss to her forehead and held her as her tears started up again as she sobbed into her. Sansa could not say how long she had cried for only that Mother had made no move to pull away from her at any point. She had just waited till Sansa had finally calmed down, stroking her hair while she waited.

Soon she had calmed down and her Mother had promised her that she was not in any trouble, that Arya was the one who had done wrong. It was something that made her feel a tiny bit better because often it seemed that Arya never got in trouble even when she had done something wrong and she did something wrong almost every day it seemed.

One of the earliest memories Sansa had of her sister was when one of her favorite dolls had gone missing, Sansa had loved that doll when she had been little. It had been a gift from her Mother for her seventh nameday, she had stitched it together with her own two hands and had sewn a dozen different dresses for her, half in the red and blue of House Tully and the other half in the grey and white of House Stark.

Sansa had loved that doll, she had hardly ever put it down and when she did, mainly to go and attend to her lady mother or to attend her lessons. After one of her needlework lessons, she had come back to her room where she had left her doll and had found it gone. She had looked all over the entire castle for it and she had not been able to find it.

She had thought of going to her Father and her Mother but even at that age she knew that both of her parents were unlikely to want to be disturbed by something as silly as the fact that she had lost her doll. But she was still little and the loss of her favorite doll seemed like it. She tried to scour the castle again and it was when she had gone up to the battlements and, not really remembering why she had thought to do so, looked over the walls and saw the flash of red and blue fabric resting against the field of white.

None of the guards were going to let her out of the castle and so Sansa had run back to her room and wept into her covers while she thought about why anyone would take her doll, it had to have been Arya. Who else would've done it? Only Arya would do it, if it upset Sansa then Arya would do something she hated. Sansa was sure of it. And every time Arya did something wrong, Sansa thought back on her poor doll and her beautiful dress and was given some comfort with the fact that she had always known this about her, that she had always been terrible and always would be, no matter how many chances Father gave her.

But Sansa would take Arya ruining everything for her a thousand times over if it only meant that everything would be as it was again, so that Bran would be awake and running around and climbing on the walls instead of laying in bed, so pale and so small. They would have already left for King's Landing by now, but with Bran's fall the King and her Lord Father had decided to hold the journey south back.

But it had been weeks already and Bran had not so much as stirred since he had fallen and that thought brought another wave of sadness over her and made her eyes prick with a new set of tears waiting to be shed. Her prince had also not spoken to her since the day Bran had fallen, he had been keeping to his own chambers ever since and Sansa wanted to go and comfort him, he must have such a tender heart if he was not able to bear the sight of Winterfell in mourning and Sansa wanted to go and be with him, but she was not allowed to see him.

And that thought made the tears overflow and Sansa brought up her arm to rub at them, thinking of how unfair it all was. Bran had wanted to be a knight, as long as Sansa could remember he had wanted that. He was going to be a knight of the Kingsguard, he was going to be the Lord Commander and was going to have his name put in the White Book.

Sansa had wanted that to be true as well, it was like something out of a song after all. A young queen who had her own brother serving in the Kingsguard and she would always have one of her own brothers close to her. But the Maester had said that Bran's back was broken, that if he ever did wake up again then he would likely never be able to walk again.

A dream had ended, Bran would never be a knight now. He would never be anything, he could be a septon or maybe a maester but that wouldn't be what Bran wanted to be. He wanted to be a knight.

When had it all gone so very wrong?

Sansa let out a gasp when she bumped into someone and an apology was at the tip of her tongue and it was about to come out when a pair of eyes the color of warm honey stared at her face, followed by a warm smile that made the words stick in Sansa's throat as a flush came on to her face when she realized that she had just walked into the heir to Dorne.

She had not spoken to Prince Lewyn since the day that he had arrived with the rest of the court, but she had seen him spending time with Robb and Jon and Theon Greyjoy, sparring with them in the yard with a dulled blade or with a wooden training spear. Sansa had watched them at times and Prince Lewyn had seemed so graceful, moving quickly so that neither her brother nor her half brother nor her father's ward's blows could ever hit him and when he struck, he was quick as a viper.

"My lady? Are you well?" He spoke and Sansa's blush deepened when she realized that she had just standing there, starring into space after she had just walked into Lewyn who was now starring at her in concern. Oh, he must have thought that she was such a fool.

"I am fine, my Lord. I am so sorry for walking into you just now. I was lost in thought." Sansa spoke and then cleared her throat, pushed any loose strands of hair back behind her ears and brushed down her dress to get rid of any fluff before she straightened herself. "I was just on my way to the sept, to pray."

"For your brother?" Lewyn Martell asked, the warmth that had been filling his eyes mere moments ago had been replaced with sorrow and when Sansa nodded he sighed. "Of course, my Lady, I've already given my sorrows on to your Lord Father and Lady Mother but I want you to know how sorry I am. I have two little brothers myself, I am not so close to Quentyn and there is a great deal of age between myself and Trystane but I do love them and I...I am not sure how I would survive, were something to happen to them."

"I thank you for your kind words, my Lord." Sansa spoke, the words coming to her without even needing to think on them. Her Mother and Septa Mordane had taught her almost everything she would ever need to say for any situation, the men had armor and weapons of steel but ladies had their battles as well and courtesy would have to be their armor.

"You do not have to thank me." The Dornish prince with a smile, almost looking bashful for a moment. "My Lady, I understand if you prefer to be alone and so please do not feel that you have to say yes to this, a no will receive no objection and no question from me but might I join you? To come and pray I mean? I find that I need somewhere peaceful at the moment and a sept would be perfect, if you do not mind."

"Of course you may come, my lord." Sansa said with a smile and then stood at the side of the prince, linking their arms together. It would not look at all untoward, none knew of the betrothal between her and Prince Joffery as of yet, as far as she knew and she walked arm in arm with Joff up the dais and no one had said anything about that. She was just showing him to the sept.

"I have to confess that I do not know much of Dorne." There were very few songs about it and the most he had heard about the kingdom was whenever she was near enough to hear Jon taking about one of the Aegons who had invaded it. But she had never heard of any great knights who had come from Dorne either, only Prince Lewyn's namesake who had been a kingsguard and who had died on the Red Fork with Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Ser Arthur Dayne who was the Sword of the Morning, but she only knew of him because he was a kingsguard as well. "Can you tell me somethings about it?"

"I would be delighted to." Lewyn said as they walked underneath the covered bridge towards the small sept, it was smaller than most buildings within the walls and it was the newest. It had been built only after her Mother had arrived from the South. "Have you heard the saying that only a Dornishman can truly know Dorne? Well, I think it might be true. Most people who come to Dorne complain of the heat and the endless sands and the deadly animals that can kill you with a single bite or sting."

"But those who live in Dorne will tell you that when the sun is high enough in the sky, the dunes of sand can shine like gold, and the Shadow City outside the walls of Sunspear had men and women haggling from the day's catch or trading silks and there are always thousands of cats under foot. And at night, the moon shines as bright as the sun as the air cools and there's the scent of jasmine and lilac in the air."

"Dorne is Dorne, I adore it." The Prince spoke as they walked up to the doors of the sept and from the way he described it Sansa had to admit that she would not mind going to see Dorne for herself, perhaps once she was married to Joff and he was the King then they could make a progress down to Sunspear and they could spend a moon's turn so there.

The Septon was sleeping in a corner and Prince Lewyn and she smiled at that and they both knelt in front of the sketches of the gods and bowed their heads and began to pray. Sansa prayed to the Father to judge all those she loved justly, she prayed to the Mother to have mercy on Bran and to let him wake up and to let him be able to wake up, she prayed to the Smith that the walls of Winterfell would never crumble and to the warrior that her Father and brother's sword arms would never fail.

She prayed to the Crone that she would lift her lantern high and give Arya the wisdom to become a lady and she prayed to the Maiden that she and Joff would forever be in love. She prayed a thousand different prayers in that silence together and Sansa did not lift her head until a hand came to rest on her shoulder and she lifted her head to see Prince Lewyn starring down at her.

"I have to go now my lady." His voice was gentle and was not more than a whisper. "But thank you for this, it was of a great help to me. I will leave you to your prayers." Sansa nodded and watched as Lewyn left the sept, moving over to the doors and opening them and shutting them just as gently once he was on the other side of them.

Sansa stayed where she was for a time, thinking on all that had happened and all that was to happen and what would never happen now. She bent her head once again, closed her eyes, and returned to praying.

End of Chapter Five

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	7. Chapter 6

The Prince of Dorne

Chapter Six

It might have been a terrible thing to think but Lewyn could not pretend that he wasn't glad to be saying goodbye to Winterfell. It was too cold for him and far to grim as well. He was a son of Dorne, he was born to the scorching son and the streets he walked on baked the soles of his feet. Even with the heat that was pumped through the walls of Winterfell it had been far too cold for him.

So when the time finally came for the court to saddle their horses and begin their journey south Lewyn was more than happy to be gone, the heavy sense of grief that had fallen on the castle when poor little lord Bran had fallen from the tower and broken his back and had not so much as twitched since he had fallen. It was terrible.

It had also come as a great shook, Lewyn had caught sight of the little lord scurrying over the walls of Winterfell half a dozen times and he had always seemed sure of hand and foot, as if he knew without looking where his next hand hold would be. Jon and Robb had told him that Bran could climb before he could run and that they had never seen him fall before, ever.

But surely everyone's luck had to run out eventually, but still how odd it was that it ran out when The King and most of the rest of the men had gone out for their hunting, if Lewyn was a suspicious man, and he was considering that he had learned suspicion, deception and plotting at his Father's knee, then he would think that maybe someone had waited for a moment when there were fewer people around in order to kill Lord Eddard's son.

Though if that was the case Lewyn could not understand why anyone would try and hurt Bran out of all the Starks, he was just a little boy after all. Either it was some sort of message to someone else or...the boy had seen something that he was never meant to see. Which, with a lot of the royal court in attendance at Winterfell, did little and less to narrow down who could have done harm to Bran.

Of course, it was more than possible that there was nothing untoward here at all and it was just the instincts of having to survive in King's Landing for as long as he had trying to tell him that something was wrong. Chances were just as like that poor little Brandon had simply reached the end of his luck and a stone had crumbled or he had misjudged his footing.

The grief that encompassed Winterfell was as thick as the fog that clung to the moors of the North and Robb had told him that his Mother had not left his younger brother's side since he had fallen, she did not even leave to eat or to sleep as she had a bed set up in his chambers and she had all of her food brought to her.

Oddly enough his thoughts kept drifting back to Lady Sansa, he had caught sight of her for the first time when they had arrived at Winterfell and she had seemed so happy. How much she had changed when he spoke to her after the fall, so quiet and so sad. And that was the girl who was going to be the next Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

And if she thought was sad now, all she had to do was waited until she was married to Joffery. Lewyn wanted to take Lady Sansa by the shoulders and shake her and tell her to run as far as she could away from the prince, she would find no joy with him he was more than certain of that. Better yet, mayhaps he would take her to Dorne where she could be a companion to his little sister, if noting else seeing how Lady Sansa would react to Arianne could be worth a laugh or two. The poor thing would probably faint.

Anything would be better for her than having to suffer Joffery. Joffery Baratheon, crown prince of the Seven Kingdoms, was a massive shit. How anyone had not dropped a drop of poison into his cup yet was beyond him. Lewyn might have done it himself if he could but he had been sent to court to find who were friends and who were foes and getting his head cut off was not going to help in that.

But if it meant getting rid of Joffery, then it might just be worth it. In the half a year that Lewyn had been at court, he didn't think he had ever met someone so unpleasant. His Mother was hardly very nice either but Lewyn did not think he would be very nice either if he was married to the Usurper and forced to watch as he sired bastards in every corner of the Seven Kingdoms.

But he wasn't sure what excuse that Joffery had for being a shit, the boy was a monster who would torment his little brother by pinching him, terrifying him and killing his pets and would mock his sister brutally by promising her that once he was King, he would see her wed to Walder Frey or to Eldon Estermont or to any other old man that he could think off.

He would make the servants do things beyond what they would ever be expect to do, saying he would have them horse whipped if they did not do what he told them to do. Lewyn himself was lightly sparred, all the boy subjected him too was several jokes about Dornish people which made Lewyn want to punch him in the throat, but it wasn't as though it was the first jokes he had heard by some foolish northerner and he had gotten used to tuning them out, even if they were told by a prince.

But poor Lady Sansa, being forced to wed someone like that. He would help her if he could, but what actually was it that he could do? He was a prince and only in name and everyone else was celebrating the union between the King's son and the Hand's daughter, it was like something out of a song they all said with smiles on their faces.

But Lewyn had learned when he was a boy that none of the songs were real, when word came that they had killed his aunt Elia and her children. All of Dorne had wept that day. And Lewyn was going to make certain that they paid for every single tear that was shed, just as his Father promised they would. Prince Doran's plans were still somewhat unknown, but he knew that the moment of truth was coming. And Lewyn would play his part in that, of course he would, and the debt that was owed to Dorne would be paid.

A horn echoed through the cold air which made Lewyn look up and then the air was filled with the sound of Winterfell's portcullis being risen and the long train of men, four abreast, began to ride out of the castle gates. It was time for them to go. Lewyn glanced over his shoulder at the massive shadow of the castle and urged his steed on.

It did not take long for them to reach a fork in the rode where some of the riders would be diverging, Lord Eddard's brother, Benjen and the other men of the Night's Watch would be heading North to the Wall along with Lord Tyrion Lannister and some of his men, why the Imp was so insistent on seeing it was beyond him but if the gods were kind perhaps he would fall off it while he took his piss and there would be one less Lannister to deal with.

It saddened him that Jon had decided to go, Lewyn liked the boy and to think that he would be forced to spend the rest of his life freezing at the Wall made him almost angry at what a waste it was. Jon was smart, when Lewyn had been able to convince him that he could debate with him without getting in trouble, he truly had some interesting things to say.

He had thought of asking Lord Eddard to let him take Jon on as a squire, but ever since the conversation he had with the Lord of Winterfell in his solar he got the sense that the new Hand did not like him which in truth was perfectly fair as Lewyn did not like him very much either. The Usurper's dog, who had obeyed him in all things and came running from his home for him whenever he was asked. It was pathetic.

So Jon was off to the Wall and Lewyn had already bid his farewells and his well wishes and thus, the parting of the two companies was for the most part barely noticed by anyone. And then for the rest of them, it was simply a straight shot down towards Moat Cailin and then down through the Neck, it was a longer journey than it had to be considering the wheels on Queen Cersei's, quite frankly ridculaosly massive, wheelhouse kept breaking which probably all together add a day or so to their travel time.

And then once they had reached Moat Cailin, then came going back down through the Neck. Lewyn had learned logic at his Father's knee as well, he knew that if he stayed on the path that he would be perfectly fine but it did not change the fact that the Neck was terrifying. Like something out of his nightmares from when he was a child, where something could lunge out at the darkness from any moment, where the bite of a wrong plant could kill and the ground itself could swallow you up.

Thankfully, it was an uneventful trip down with the only true complication being when at one point it seemed that Lady Arya had wandered off into the darkness of the bogs. Thankfully, she had returned before any search party out with a bunch of purple and green flowers in her hands which she gave to her Father who knelt down and hugged her instead of chastising her.

Of course mere hours later the girl broke out in a rash and began to smear mud on herself and Lewyn was not sure what was funnier, the young girl spreading all the mud on her or the look on her sister's face when she saw what the girl was doing. It made Lewyn think of his own sister and the look Ari would get on her face when he did something that Arianne would think was foolish.

He should write another letter to Ari as soon as he could, one thing he had learned while he was at Winterfell was that he missed his siblings more than he had ever though, even Quentyn who he had not seen in the flesh for years. Yes, he would write all of them another letter as soon as they were back in the capital, he hopefully would be able to get a response this time around.

Not many ravens in Dorne knew the way to Winterfell, after all.

Soon enough they had made their way through the Riverlands and had stopped for the day at Castle Darry, a small little castled but comfortable enough and as a Prince of Dorne, Lewyn was fortunate enough to be allowed his own chambers even as other lords and knights had to make do with sleeping out under the stars, with even some ladies having to join them as well.

Lewyn had been mulling his thoughts and considered going for a ride when a sudden commotion drew his attention and he went to follow it, what he found was a large group of men surrounding Lady Sansa who was weeping and holding on to the neck of her direwolf for dear life and Lewyn was about to and intercede and ask the meaning for this but before he could, he was cut off by another prince.

Joffery Baratheon walked into the middle of the men and proclaimed that they leave his betrothed alone and Lewyn scoffed under his breath, Joffery could play the gallant prince when it suited him to do so but it rarely suited him and that was all it was, a play. A good play to be certain, Joff might have missed his chance to be a mummer, but a play all the same.

Lewyn scoffed again and turned away and walked right in to Sandor Clegane who seemed to have broken away from the crowd, the man had a face only a Mother could love and that was the side of his face that still was a face. The burns were better not thought about. "Hello Sandor, shouldn't you be with your Prince?"

"It's a fucking moron who would attack a prince anyway in the middle of a royal court, the little shit is fine." Handor spoke than spat off to the side. "Well, what do you think of the little bird?"

"She's a wolf, not a bird." Lewyn muttered and then he shrugged. "Lady Sansa is gentle and kind and lovely, it is not right that she should be chained to someone like Joffery for the rest of her days but such is our lot. We are all the puppets of our parents, dancing at the end of their strings. Tis a pity she is not a Sand Snake, my Uncle taught his daughters well and if any man tried to hurt them, the response from any of them would be a dagger to the throat."

"Pah, well. Little bird isn't a killer anyway, hasn't got it in her." Lewyn used to think that he didn't have it in him either, then he killed his first man. Turns out that he did have him in it after all, though he would not lie he hoped that Lady Sansa would never have to learn that for herself. But then he knew the world for what it was, more than like she would learn.

"How is your brother, Sandor?" Lewyn asked, wanting to get the conversation away from Lady Sansa for the moment at least. The taller man's eyes darkened at the mention of his brother and Lewyn knew well enough that Sandor wanted to kill Ser Gregor and that was something that the two of them had a great deal in common.

In truth, Sandor could make quite a good cats paw but for two things, one the man was stubborn when it came to his brother. He would kill him but he would be the one to do it and he would do it at his time. The second thing was that Prince Doran had made it clear to him that he was only to find who were enemies and who were friends, not make them.

He was only to watch and wait and it was insufferable.

"Where's my Hound? Hound?!" The voice of the Prince cracked through the air like a whip before Sandor could say anything and when Lewyn glanced over his shoulder, he saw that the crowd had dispersed and Joffery and Sansa stood on their own. "Come along Hound, he is not the Prince you serve. I am, he's not even a real Prince. Go and bring me my horse, my Lady and I are going riding. Oh, and fetch a horse for my Lady as well."

"Yes, my Prince." Sandor growled and then turned on his feet and stalked away and just like that it was only Lewyn, Joffery and Sansa left standing alone. Lewyn was fairly sure that he could hear a fly buzzing around somewhere close by, it was so deathly silent that everything seemed to be magnified to his ears and Lewyn decided that the best thing would be for him to leave.

"My Prince, My Lady." He had turned and was about to walk away when Prince Joffery called out and commanded him to say and in that one moment Lewyn wished he had paid more attention to Lady Nym when she had tried to teach him how throw knives as in that moment he could think of naught more satisfying than to spin around with a dagger in hand to throw into the little shit's throat before he had even noticed what had happened to him.

But alas, his cousin's passion for knives was not one that he shared and nor did he actually have a knife on his person in that moment so when he spun around he was armed only with his most charming smile. "Yes, my Prince? How can I be of help to you today?" Chances were the boy would order him to saddle his horse for him in order to try and humiliate him but Lewyn had learned the best way to deal was Joff was just to smile in his face when he attempted to humilate or upset you, eventually he would just get bored of it and wander off.

Joffery frowned and honestly Lewyn could not see why anyone would want to be married to him, in his mind the prince was quite ugly. Too pale and his lips looked like sausages that flopped around for being under cooked. "Are you glad to be away from the North, Prince Lewyn? I imagine that being from Dorne, it was far too cold and grim for you."

"It was cold my Prince, I will grant you that. And as for grim...well, I was only in the North for a short time. If someone only spent a few moments in Dorne, they would assume it is a sun ravaged land where nothing could grow. It would be wrong of me then to make any assumptions about the North. I have no doubt that it has it's beauties, wonders and treasures. Lady Sansa is proof enough for all three."

He gave the Stark girl a smile and her face flushed red and he had to admit, he had thought that she might look silly when she blushed but she didn't at all. She looked lovely, in point of fact. Joffery frowned and cleared his throat. "Yes, well. Of course. You would notice that my lady is beautiful, your Dornish. That's all you care about, isn't it?"

Reminding himself of his Father's promise that he would not make enemies, that he would wait, he forced a smile and kept any thoughts of strangling the little prick as just that, thoughts. "Any man would notice such a beauty Your Grace, be they Dornish or Northern, from the Reach or the Westerlands, the Crownlands or the Riverlands, but you are quite right." He turned his attention back to Sansa. "Lady Sansa, if I gave you any offense then I am deeply sorry. Nothing could be further from my intent."

Sansa smiled at him again and Lewyn felt...odd, it was something that he had not felt before but it was certainly not an unpleasant feeling. "I am not offended, thank you Prince Lewyn."

Joff's face reminded him of an apple with how red it was getting and he looked like he was about to scream at him when Sandor returned leading two horses. Joffery regained his composure and forced a sickly smile on to his face. "Well, here are our horses. Lewyn, what a wonderful talk. Hound, do whatever you want. My Lady and I will be fine our own for awhile."

Lewyn did not like the sound of that and he watched the two of them ride off with a frown on his face, he turned to Sandor who was already walking away. "Your is sworn shield, you should be with him. Protecting him." Protecting Sansa, but he left that bit unsaid. "The Queen will be unpleased that you left her son on his own."

"He'll be fine and I am sworn to Joffery, Joffery just told me that he doesn't want me with him." And just like that Sandor was gone and Lewyn was left on his own and while he might have tried to put it out of his mind but something was clawing at the inside of his guts and he knew that he could not simply leave this be.

Lewyn was quick to walk back through the camp and mounted his horse, thankfully Prince Oberyn had taught him well how to track someone on horse back and neither Prince Joff nor Lady Sansa were trying to go on hidden from sight and so it was easy enough for him to find their tracks and to follow them, though he had no idea where they were going.

When the tracks lead to a shadow cat's lair, for a moment he thought that both of the fools had gone and gotten themselves eaten but there was no sign of the car, no blood or remains and there were more tracks so it looked like they had rode on. The sun was just starting to set when he finally found them next to the river, both had gotten off of their horses and they were not alone.

Lewyn jumped off his horse as he rode closer and saw that The Prince had drawn his sword was jabbing it in the direction of the plump boy that looked vaguely family to Lewyn for some reason as Lady Sansa stood at the side, shaking and clutching a skin of wine in her hands and a little girl was yelling at Joffery to get away from her friend, it was only when Lewyn was getting closer that he saw that it was Lady Arya.

He knew he had to do something, but he did not have a knife, he had left his sword and his spear in his chambers in Castle Darry. All he had was a whip and he was not as skilled with it as Obara was and it was just as like that he would wind up whipping someone's eye out by mistake.

But once he saw that Lady Arya was moving forward to intervene, Lewyn knew he had to act. He drew his whip and as quick as he could, snapped it forward and bringing it down on Joffery's hand, the one holding the hilt of his sword. He screamed louder than Lewyn's mother ever had when she labored to bring his little sister and brothers into the world and the sword fell into the grass.

Joffery stumbled backwards away from his sword and Lewyn moved forward, ready to give the lion another lick if he made a move that he did not like. "Come along now, my prince. I am sure whatever this poor boy has done is no need for you to be jabbing at him with your sword. It was a fine gift that sword, you don't need to mar it by spilling common blood." Innocent blood as well, no doubt.

The Prince's face had gone pale with rage and his eyes had narrowed in shock as he held his hand, the whip had cut the skin and it was already bruised. "You...you fucking brown cunt! I am your Prince! You dare to strike at me, I'll have your head off!"

"No you won't, not unless you want me to tell the king that you left with telling no one, got Lady Sansa very drunk, could have gotten both of you killed by exploring a shadow cat's lair and were terrorizing a boy for something I am certain was no crime." He glanced at Arya. There was another stick in the ground, much the same as the one she held. "Am I right in this, Lady Arya?"

"We were just playing swords!"

"There we are, just playing swords. The King would not be pleased." He wasn't sure how much an effect that would have and so he carried on. "And also, if you speak ill of me...well, I am Dornish after all. We are a passionate people, slander me and I might have to take steps to ensure you are quickly punished for it. Tell me, when do you think you will eat again?"

That had turned him pale, and not from rage. He stepped back and Lewyn smiled and began to coil the whip and hanged it from his hip. The Lion was tamed, at least for the moment. The boy had ran off into the woods and Lady Arya was concerned for him and wanted to go and find him but Lewyn promised her they would deal with that once they had arrived back the castle.

A tugging at his sleeve made Lewyn look at his side and he saw Sansa was staring at him, she was swaying on her feet and Lewyn offered a hand to steady her. "Thank you, that was...that wasn't my Prince." She said softly and Lewyn wondered if he should tell her that was Joffery exactly. "He must have been upset about something."

Lewyn glanced at Joffery who was, with some trouble, climbing on to his horse and once he was properly saddled, he rode off and he knew that they had better get going before he had a chance to speak to the Queen. "As you say, my Lady, we should be off."

"Yes, yes but...I'm dizzy." Well, that was understandable. "I don't think that I can ride back on my own. Could i-i ride back with you?" She asked and Lewyn nodded and began to lead her over to his horse.

"Of course, Lady Arya, can you ride your sister's horse back with us?"

"Sure! Come on Nymeria!" Sure enough, the she-direwolf bounded out of the woods and not for the first time Lewyn was glad that he had been here. Who knew what could have happened if he had not been.

Soon enough the three of them were off with the direwolf bounding ahead of them and Lewyn could not stop himself from smiling when Lady Sansa wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his back.

End of Chapter Six

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 **Whoop, well here we go and another chapter done.**

 **I really hope people are liking Lewyn and Sansa's relationship so far, it's going to be a fairly slow burn but this is of course a very important chapter.**

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 **With a great deal of love,**

 **DiscordantSymphony**


	8. Chapter 7

The Prince of Dorne

Chapter Seven

King's Landing was everything she had hoped, it was beautiful and grand and the Red Keep atop Aegon's High Hill looked just like all the castles that she had always dreamed about when she thought of all the castles in her favorite songs. It was a dream, a perfect and beautiful dream. Everything that had happened on the road had been scary and it had threatened to ruin everything, but they could all put it behind them now.

Once they had made their way back to the castle, Prince Lewyn had asked Arya to help her to her bed chamber and Sansa had slept for longer than she had ever done before and when she had woken her head had felt like it was going to come apart and she had emptied her stomach into her chamber pot. When Septa Mordane had found her, she had been so concerned that she might be coming down with something that she had put her straight back to bed.

Sansa hated lying, but if her Father found out that she had drank so much wine then he would be so disappointed in her. But then, if he found out that she had lied to him then he would be even more disappointed than he would have been if he found out that she had the wine. Arya at least did not seem like she was going to tell Father, so she imagined she should be grateful for that at the very least.

She felt better by the afternoon when it was time for the royal party to continue on. Her stomach had still felt a bit unsteady but that was just as likely to be from the fact that she had not been able to break her fast earlier in the day and she had started to feel better once she had climbed into the wheelhouse, though she had turned away a platter of lemon cakes when Jenye had offered it to her.

They made good time and the host stopped when they came on to Maidenpool, Sansa had always wanted to see the pools where Jonquil and her sisters had bathed in but her head was still a little sore and she had remained within the Stark wheelhouse, nothing compared to the majesty of the Queen's wheelhouse of course, but she did have Lady with her so it wasn't so bad to be left alone while everyone else explored and stretched their legs.

Her Father had come to see her, to make sure that she was well. His grey eyes had narrowed and he had frowned when he had seen her. He he had rested his hand against her forehead and his frown had only deepened when he felt no heat in her skin and Sansa's stomach felt like it was going to twist into knots as he stared at her, trying to see through her lies.

But her Father had not pressed her, he had merely pressed a kiss to her forehead and left her to rest while he went to speak with the King and Sansa had let out a sigh of relief when he had gone and left her alone in the wheelhouse to snuggle with her Lady. Arya was the one who had come to see her next, her little sister was muddy and the lovely grey velvet dress that almost made her sister actually look like a girl was ripped at the skirt.

Her own wolf was with her as well, Nymeria was not a gentle creature like her own Lady but Sansa did smile a bit when she lapped at her hand with her tongue. Arya told her that her Prince had just said that he had fallen from his horse once he had gotten back to the castle to explain the injury that he had received from Prince Lewyn's whip.

Sansa still did not know how she truly felt about that, it was a crime to strike at a member of the royal family. It was treason. But Joffery was being awful and the words that he had said to Arya were so foul and he had that sword and he was going to hurt her with it. She was going to be wed to Joffery and she should be angry on the behalf of her future husband.

But he had been so very cruel, and from what Arya had told her Joffery was not badly harmed and Prince Lewyn was not a bad man. He had never been anything but kind to her. She still remembered how gently he had spoken to her after Bran had fallen from the First Keep and how he had prayed with her in her Lady Mother's sept.

She didn't think that she could hate him even if she wanted to do so. He was a good man, and she was fond of him. Arya stayed with her for a little while longer before it was time for them to continue onward, the King had grown weary and wanted to carry on even if it meant riding through the night, and her sister and her wolf left her alone in the wheelhouse once again and Sansa had shut her eyes and fell back into slumber. It was not good for a Lady to sleep when she had guests to attend to and duties to perform but she was so tired.

When she woke in the morning with Lady licking at her face she felt a great deal better, though she was very hungry indeed. Thankfully, they had arrived at King's Landing when she finally opened her eyes and when they arrived in the apartments that had been set up for her Father as the King's own hand, a platter of breakfast was waiting for her.

Once she had finished it as quickly as she could while still being polite and asked for leave to go to her own bedchamber, she stared out into the city with her face resting in her hands. It truly was so very beautiful, a city from out of her dreams and Sansa swore to herself that from now on everything was going to be perfect.

A furry and wet snout being pressed against her hand and made her look down and Sansa knelt down to wrap her arms around her neck, enjoying the feeling of her soft fur against her. Lady licked her cheek and made Sansa giggle and then she rose from the floor after she had petted her behind the ears and spent a moment brushing her coat before she finally turned and made her way over to the door, Lady following at her feet. Of course, she wanted her wolf to come with her but it would not do to have a direwolf running around and scaring someone at court, Princess Myrcella was frightened of them after all, and so she pet Lady once more and told her to stay within the chambers.

She wanted to explore the Red Keep, this would be her home one day after all and she wanted to know it as well as she did Winterfell. Jenye Poole wanted to come with her as well and Septa Mordane agreed that it would be good for them to see the rest of the castle. Arya should come as well, according to her septa but she refused to come and then ran off, Septa Mordane called after them and ordered her to come back but Arya ignored her and vanished around a corner.

Lord Eddard gave them leave to but he also sent Fat Tom and Alyn with them to keep them safe and they had thus left the Tower of the Hand and strode across the courtyard to the Great Hall where the Iron Throne would stand, Sansa had dreamed about it once when they were journeying down from the North.

It was far much bigger than she had dreamed that it would be, it barely looked like a chair to sit on at all. It almost looked like some sort of a terrible monster, a great twisted thing of metal that stretched up almost to the roof of the great hall and cast a long and terrible shadow across the floor. It look awful to sit on, Sansa did not think that she would ever want to do so.

But then she wouldn't ever need to her, her husband would be the one to sit there. And she would sit on the dais, in a tall backed chair that was carved from oak with plump velvet cushions as her husband held court. Perhaps Joffery would look very fine up there, dressed in crimson velvet and cloth of gold with rubies on his fingers and a golden chain across his throat. He would look so very handsome.

Jenye wanted to see the Maidenvault next and Sansa agreed as graciously as she could even if she wanted to remain within the Throne Room for a little while longer, but a good lady did not put her own desires above someone else's. In truth there was not that much to see in the Maidenvault, it was often given over to noble guests to be housed but there was not that many at court at the moment, all there were could be fit in the great keep or within the tower of the Hand.

Jenye was disappointed that they were not able to find the chambers that had belonged to the princesses who had been held captive but Sansa had found that quite silly, the entire castle had been built by King Baelor to keep his sisters captive they would not have just been kept in one chamber but the entire castle, that had been their cell.

The next place they came to was the castle sept and Sansa's breath was taken away by the sheer beauty of it, back in Winterfell the sept that her Lord Father had constructed for her Lady Mother had been lovely and peaceful but it had been small and humble and the statues of the Seven had been carved from stone and stood, as cold and silent as any of the statues in the crypt.

But here the seven who were one were wrought in gold and had pearls for eyes and rubies embedded in their chests. The Crone's lantern was made of jade and crystal, the Warrior's blade was diamond and it's hilt was solid gold. The Father wore a crown as mighty as any King's and the Mother had emeralds shinning at her throat, and her wrists and in her golden hair.

The windows high above them were stained glass and the light of the sun cast rainbow light around the sept and it was so beautiful that it made Sansa want to weep but she didn't, she wasn't a little girl anymore after all. But all the same, she might find that she would enjoy praying here far more than she ever would in her Lady Mother's sept.

The Septon came by while they were inside and invited them to prayer and all of them did so, Sansa lit a candle at the feet of the Maiden and one at the feet of the Mother as well, praying that her marriage to Joff would be long and filled with nothing but happiness and that she would give him a dozen strong sons and sweet daughters.

A candle for the Warrior, to ensure that her betrothed and her Father and all her brothers would win all of their battles that they would fight in their lives and a candle for the Crone, to pray that she would lead them to a wiser way than war, another candle at the feet of the Father, to pray that in the end he would judge them all with wisdom and fairness.

The service was done then and as Sansa followed Septa Mordane out of the sept, she found herself wondering if she should go and try to speak with her Prince and make sure that he was well after what had happened but at the same time she could not deny that she was afraid, afraid of what might happen if Joffery was still angry, afraid of what he might say to her. Afraid of what the Queen would say, if she knew.

Even as she looked back on it now, she wasn't truly sure if it happened the way that it seemed to in her memory. She had drunk far, far too much out of her prince's skin and it shamed her to remember it properly now. Septa Mordane had always said that too much wine would make even the most noble and wisest of ladies into simpletons and Sansa had far too much.

The shame of that was almost as bad as the fear of her Father finding out that she had drunk so much, the worst thing was that Arya knew she had been drunk from the wine and she could tell Father whenever she wanted to, it would be better to be nicer to her for the moment then to not give her a reason to tell on her.

"Lady Sansa!" A voice called out to her as they left the sept and Sansa turned her head to see Prince Lewyn walking over to them. Sansa smiled to see him, though her smile soon fell away to be replaced by a shocked expression when she saw that Lady was following behind him. Prince Lewyn smiled at her as he reached down to scratch behind Lady's ears. "I am sorry to bother you my Lady, but I am afraid that something that belonged to you found it's way to me and I thought that you would be concerned so I thought it best to bring her back."

"Thank you Prince Lewyn." Sansa spoke even though she was still slightly shocked, Lady had always been a good girl and always stayed where Sansa had told her to stay and she only ever tied her up because her Father had told her that it was too dangerous for a direwolf to be left unrestrained but back in Winterfell she had not tied her up in her bed chamber and when Sansa had told her to stay, she had always stayed.

Sansa gestured for Lady to come to her which she did but not before rubbing her head against Lewyn's leg and Sansa knelt to the ground and wrapped her arms around her beautiful girl's neck. She knew that she should be firm with her for leaving her chambers after she had told her to stay but Sansa had never been able to be cross with her, and Lady was such a good girl that surely it didn't matter if it was just this once that she disobeyed her. "I am sorry if she bothered you, Prince Lewyn."

"Not at all, she's a gentle beast indeed. You've named and trained her well." Prince Lewyn said with a warm smile and Sansa felt her face go warm, like it had done when they had been by the river where Arya had been clacking sticks together with her butcher's boy and he had helped her on to his horse and they had ridden together back to the castle. "I think she was just rather lonely and bored, being stuck inside. Even the gentlest of wolves is still a wolf, after all. And I was quite glad of the company, if the truth is to be told."

"I am glad that she proved to be an adequate companion." Sansa said as she rose and Septa Mordane cleared her throat. "Forgive me Septa, Prince Lewyn may introduce you to my dear companion, Lady Jeyne of the House Poole, the daughter of my Father's steward and Septa Mordane, who is responsible for our education at Winterfell."

"Lady Jeyne, Septa." Jeyne giggled like she was still a little girl and her face flushed as red as a pomegranate and Septa Mordane tilted her head in greeting but said nothing else. "Are you enjoying the Red Keep so far?"

"Oh yes!" Jeyne shouted before Sansa could say anything. "We're exploring it, in face. We've already been in the Throne Room and in the castle Sept, you've been at court for a long time, haven't you Prince Lewyn? Could you maybe please guide us?"

"I would be more than happy too." Prince Lewyn said with a smile. "Have you seen Princess Myrcella's gardens? They are beautiful, though if the truth is to be told the Princess only prefers to spend her time in them, rather than tending to them but they are beautiful all the same. I was actually spending a moment there myself, it was where Lady found me."

"It sounds like a dream, Prince Lewyn. I would adore to see them, if Septa Mordane will allow us." Septa Mordane merely tilted her head again and Sansa took that as to mean that they could go and so the five of them, herself, Prince Lewyn, Jeyne, Septa Mordane and Lady, crossed the courtyard and made their way into the gardens.

They almost reminded her of the Glass Gardens back in Winterfell, though they had only ever been used to grow food for the winter instead of flowers, but the slight waft of heat and the smell was the same. A thousand colors met her eyes, deep blues and bright oranges and pretty purples and vibrant reds. Sansa thought that it was one of the most beautiful things that she had ever seen in her life.

Perhaps, once she was the Queen and Princess Myrcella had been married off to whoever she would be wed to, then Sansa could take charge of the gardens when she was gone. Perhaps she could try and plant some winter roses in the ground, she had always loved them when she had been a girl with the deep blue of their petals, they had always been a hint of sweetness in the harshness of the North.

Prince Lewyn directed her attention to a flower with red petals on the outside, with a orange center and a black stem with very sharp looking thorns. It was pretty in it's way, but it did not smell very nice "It's called a sulfur rose, they are native to Dorne and they grow on the banks of the Brimstone River. My cousin Tyene is very fond of them."

"They are very pretty, but I do not think that I would much like them near me. The smell is...very strong." It burned at Sansa's nose and made her eyes water from the unpleasantness of it.

"True, when I say my dear cousin likes them it is not so much for their smell but rather what uses they have." When Sansa looked at him, he cleared his throat. "My cousin is a maker of certain...substances, and these flowers are one of her favorite ingredients. But they have other uses as well, if you boil the leaves of the rose, then you will have a tea that can sooth even the worst headache. My father is very fond of it."

"How fares Prince Doran? I cannot say that I have every truly had the pleasure."

"My Father is well enough, at least he claims to be. His health has never been the strongest, to be sure. I cannot see for myself as I have not lain eyes on him, nor any of my family, in far too long a time." A sadness appeared behind his eyes as he spoke and in that moment Sansa felt terrible for making him upset but as soon as she had seen it, it was gone. "But I receive letters from all of them, and if my Father were to lie to me then my little sister would tell me true and she claims that my Father is well enough for the moment."

"Enough about myself, how is your own Lord Father? Has he settled into the Tower of the Hand yet?" If the truth was to be told, he hadn't. To be sure it was only the first day of being in the capital but Father had not looked happy and he also looked as though he was very hot as well, but even Sansa had felt hot compared to what she was used to at Winterfell. She would get used to it, and if she could then so would Lord Eddard.

"My Lord Father is thankful for the honor of being named King's hand, and to serve his Grace and the Realm to the best of his ability." It was what she had been taught to say, and like every other time Sansa said it beautifully. And her Father would learn to love it here as much as Sansa already did, she was sure of it. He must like just missed Winterfell, but so did Sansa and she was already looking forward.

"Well, the King will spare no expense in making him feel welcome, the tourney that's going to be thrown for him, well, by all accounts it's going to be one of the largest that King's Landing has ever hosted. Robert was not back in King's Landing for yet an hour before the messages were sent, at least that was what I had heard." Lewyn hummed before he reached over into the bushes and drew out a red rose.

Sansa knew that it was rude, that she should try and listen more intently to what Prince Lewyn had said but she could not help herself. Sansa glanced over at Jeyne to see if she had heard what she had and considering how she was smiling so widely that it took up all of her face her eyes were shinning, that meant that she must have.

A tourney.

There had never been tourneys in Winterfell, as there were no knights in Winterfell. Well, Ser Rodrik was a knight but he was her Father's master-at-arms and in truth he had always scared Sansa, somewhat. He was so very gruff and he did not look like the sort of man who would ride in a tourney. Lord Wyman did sometimes hold tourneys in White Harbor, and oh how she had begged her Father to let her attend, but he would always gently refuse her, telling her it was to long a way to travel to just watch men play at war.

So all she had to content herself with was her dreams and her mother's stories of the tourneys in the south from before she was married, but now she would get to see one with her own eyes and she could not wait for it. "A tourney, how marvelous! Will you be riding in it Prince Lewyn? Or perhaps in the melee."

He almost looked shocked that he had asked, but then a soft smile appeared on his face. "In truth, I never held very much interest in tournys, my Lord Father told me once that he found them to be useless affairs, of course, my Uncle disagreed and taught me how to ride and to use my lance. I imagine that as a son of Dorne, it is my duty to ride and show all these foolish northmen how they are doing it wrong?"

Sansa was going to correct him by saying that they weren't northmen, but then she remembered that he was from Dorne and that everyone would be a northman to him. "I hope that you will choose to ride, my prince. You were very gallant with how you helped me on the banks of the river, I wish for all the realm to see how gallant you truly are."

Lewyn's face flushed and he looked taken aback for a moment but only for that moment, his face became open and a soft and tender smile that made Sansa realize how handsome he truly was appeared on his face. "Then it seems that I have very little choice in the matter, I must ride in the tourney if my Lady of Winterfell commands it to be so."

"I do command it to be so." Sansa said, and it was bolder than she had ever dared to be in her life. Lewyn stepped forward and offered her the rose and Sansa took it, taking care not to let the thrones press into her skin. "Thank you, my prince."

"Sansa." Septa Mordane's cool tone cut through the air. "It is time for us to return to the Tower of the Hand, come along now."

Sansa truly didn't want to go, but she was always a good girl and did as she was told and so she bid her farewell to Prince Lewyn and followed after her septa while keeping the rose close to her chest.

Once they were back in her chambers, Jeyne began to giggle. "Prince Lewyn is rather handsome, isn't he? And he's going to be the next Prince of Dorne, do you think that your Father will convince him to wed me?"

Something dark and ugly that Sansa did not like reared up in her chest, _he's the heir to a great house and a kingdom and you are a steward's daughter, he would never wed you._ But it was an awful thing to think, even if it was the truth, and so Sansa merely offered her a smile and Sansa kept twirling the rose around in her fingers. "Prince Lewyn would be very lucky indeed if he wed you, but I imagine his Father would need a say in it as well."

Jeyne pouted and Septa Mordane stepped forward, her gaze dropping down to the rose in her hands. "Sansa, you would do well to be rid of that. I would burn in in the fires of your heath and beg the gods for forgiveness, were I you. You are the betrothed of the future king, a prince of the realm, and to be accepting gifts from strange men. I thought I taught you better than that."

Sansa frowned and glanced down at the rose, and her grip on it tightened slightly and she did not care even as the thorns began to dig into her skin. "But he's not a strange man, not at all. He's Prince Lewyn, I told you how he helped me after I started to feel unwell and got lost near the river. He brought me home and was very kind."

"Sansa, he is Dornish." The Septa spoke as if that meant something and she let out a sigh and rubbed the bridge of her nose when both her charges stared blankly at her. "Dornishmen are men with unnatural appetites, the strange spices in the food they eat heat their blood and cause them to certain madness, you must be careful that he does not dishonor you."

"You're wrong." Sansa spoke and Jeyne gaped at her like a fish and for a moment, Sansa did not recognize her own voice when it spoke those words. She had never argued with Septa Mordane before. "Prince Lewyn is not like that, he is not. He is a good man, noble and true and he would never bring me any sort of dishonor. I know he wouldn't, you may go Septa."

"Sansa, I will not-"

"You may go, Septa." Sansa tried to make her voice sound as strong as her own Lady Mother's and Lady padded over to stand at her side, her wolf would never growl at anyone but all the same it's eyes were fixed on Septa Mordane who cleared her throat and left the room, closing the door behind her as she left.

Sansa fell to the ground and wrapped her arms around Lady's neck, burying her face into her fur. "I'd like to be alone for the moment, please Jeyne." Her voice was muffled by Lady's fur but she heard Jeyne rise from her bed and the door opening and shutting once again. Sansa stood then and looked back down at the rose, twirling it in her fingers.

It was a gift, and nothing more than that.

Sansa walked over to her trunk and pulled open a little carved box, inside of it was the first needlework she had ever done, a smooth black pebble that she had found when her Father had brought them all to the Stoney Shore, a pearl that had fallen off one of her dresses and a polished hand mirror that had been a gift from her Aunt Lysa on her fifth nameday. The rose was placed inside, and she shut the lid.

End of Chapter Seven

* * *

 **Another chapter done and dusted.**

 **Couple of things to draw attention to.**

 **Sansa's thoughts to Jeyne, some might say it's more a thought that Cersei would have than Sansa but keep in mind that there are a lot of parallels between Sansa and Cersei in the book, the difference is of course that Sansa recognizes that it is an awful thing to think, chastises herself and then does not say it. Cersei would say it, and with no regrets.  
**

 **Septa Mordane also has a point, she goes about it in the wrong way of course with also referencing racist tropes and views that the rest of the Seven Kingdoms have of Dorne and it's people, but regardless a betrothed woman accepting gifts from another man has never ended well, either in Westeros or in real world history.**

 **Finally, while I never thought of myself as much of a romance writer, I have to admit that I am really enjoying writing Lewyn and Sansa together, maybe I'm just a sucker for courtly love, sue me.**

 **Anywho, next chapter should be from Ned's persepctive and I think that is how these early chapters are mainly going to be. Lewyn, Sansa and Ned. With maybe a Joffery and Arya chapter here and there but don't worry, as we get further on in the story we will see more characters and how they perceive events.**

 **If you enjoyed this chapter, please give it a follow, a favourite and a review. With a ton of love,**

 **DiscordantSymphony**


	9. Chapter 8

The Prince of Dorne

Chapter Eight

If Robert was not his king then Ned was fairly certain that he would have hit him in the jaw by now, it wasn't that he did not love Robert for the gesture but such attention was something that he had never been used to nor had it been anything that he had ever truly craved, between Brandon and Lya and Benjen he had always managed to slip into the background.

He had never truly minded, Ned had found his place there. He had been raised to know that once Brandon was the Lord of Winterfell then he would serve Brandon as one of his loyal bannermen, with his own little insignificant holdfast that no one would care about and his wife, who would most likely be the second or third born daughter of a northern house that he had never heard of before and that would have suited him perfectly.

But then Brandon had died, he had died in one of the worst ways that Ned could ever imagine, and their Father had died with him and the lordship of Winterfell had fallen on to his head, even if he did not want it he had no choice in that and thus he was given the seat of the Starks, and he then rode off to the war that needed to be waged if the death of his kinsmen was to be avenged.

And in the end he had been given the wife that was meant for Brandon as well, love had grown between him and Cat and there were no words in any man's tongue that would express how grateful he was for that, as he was uncertain if he could bear it to have a wife who was not pleased with him but he had been spared all of that.

What he wouldn't give right now to be back in Winterfell with Cat, in their bed together and holding her in his arms while Robb and Jon swung wooden swords together down in the yard, while Sansa sang so sweetly as she made such beautiful needlework, while Arya brought despair to her Mother while she ruined whatever new dress that had been labored on that night, Bran joining his sister in giving them more grey to their hair by scurrying up and over and wall that pleased him to do so and the sweetest sound of Rickon's breathless laughter as he chased the chickens across the courtyard.

It was a beautiful thought, but when would he be able to have that again? Winterfell was thousands of miles away and Bran was broken, as like as to never open his eyes again and his wife was not the same woman since, the sight of him at Bran's bedside had torn at his heart and Ned had never wanted to leave her like that, but his King had need of him and Ned had always done his duty. It had soothed him somewhat to see her again in the capital stronger than she had been, but it had only been for a few too few moments before he had sent her back to the North to prepare for what was to come.

Robb had tried his best to be brave, Ned had seen that look before. That look when your entire world had been turned upside down and burned to ashes. He had worn that look before when his Father and brother had died and it had all fallen on to him and it was his turn to be brave and now it was Robb's turn as well, despite everything it made Ned proud of his son and heir even if he wished that it never had to happen to him.

Rickon had been distraught at their leaving and Ned was still uneasy as to what happened when his youngest child had come to say goodbye to them, he had kicked and screamed as one of Catelyn's maids brought him forth. Ned had tried to calm him, to tell him to be brave but Rickon was only three and he would not be soothed by any of Ned's words. He had simply screamed that he did not wish to go and that he hated him before he ran off, the little black wolf pup hurrying after him.

And then it was time to say goodbye to Jon as well and see him off to the Wall, he had hoped that Cat might change her mind when it came to sending Jon away or that he might be able to convince her to change her mind at the very least. He might have been able to, if not for Bran's fall from the First Keep. Jon had asked about his Mother, if she was still alive and if she knew where he was going, if she cared.

And Ned had no idea what to say to any of that, so he did what he often did when it came to Jon, to keeping him as safe as he could. He lied. He promised his son that once they saw one another again, that they would speak about his Mother. But he was going to be the Hand of the King, to serve Robert in that role for as long as his King had need of him, when would he ever be in the North again to keep that promise to Jon?

It shamed him to lie, but Ned had a promise to keep.

If nothing else, then at least he still had Sansa and Arya with him. Sansa seemed to be as enthralled with this damned city as much as Ned, and her sister, loathed it. Poor Arya did seem so miserable, and the knowledge that she had hidden that blade from him had done little to improve his own mood or hers, to say the very least.

But she did seem happier now that he had let her keep her Needle, and that he had found her a new dancing master for lessons. If his Father was still alive, then he might have been horrified by it. But it would have made Lya smile, though no doubt she would be offended that he had not thought to ask her to teach his daughter the art of swordplay.

Arya would have to grow out of it of course, but she was still young and there would be time enough for that. For now, so long as it made her happy, she could have what she wanted.

Sadly, he did have to be somewhat firmer with his King. Ned cleared his throat and spoke to his friend as they broke their fast together. "Your Grace, again I am grateful to you for hosting this tourney for me, truly I am. But I am concerned about the coin that is going to be spent to pay for all of it, it's not just the prizes for the victors that is the problem. Everything about the tourney costs money, and with the debts that are already owed...I simply don't think it is a good idea to proceed with it."

Robert laughed, as loud and hearty as when he was a boy and for a moment it seemed to Ned that all the passage of years had fallen away and he was a boy again as well. "You worry too much Ned, you always have. There is always enough coin to pay for everything, Littlefinger always manages to find more coin somehow."

Ned frowned at the mention of Littlefinger, Cat might trust the man from her youth but Ned did not know him and Cat had not seen him since they had been at Riverrun together, for all that he trusted Cat's judgement something about the other man did not sit well with him but he had brought him to Catelyn, when he truly had no reason to do so that Ned could see.

So for the moment, at least, he would keep Littlefinger close even if he did not wish to do so. As for his tenure as Master of Coin, it was true that there always seemed to be more coin for whatever fancy possessed Robert next but that did little to sooth Ned's concerns, the saying about how Littlefinger could rub two gold dragons together and make a third might indeed be true but Robert had always been a man of great appetite, even in his youth, unless Littlefinger could make two dragons breed a hundred then that did not seem as useful.

And it had not stopped the debt that his King had fallen into either, the gold that was owed to Tywin Lannister was bad enough but to also owe such coin both to Mace Tyrell and to the Faith of the Seven as well...it had made Ned's head pound with frustration as he tried to make sense of how Robert had gotten himself into this, or how Jon Arryn had allowed it to get this bad.

"Besides Ned, you are the King's new hand." Robert said with a shrug as he lifted his horn of ale up to his mouth and drank deep from it. "A celebration is expected to be had and I am going to give the people one, if you like it or not. The ravens have already been sent, to every single corner of the realm. Knights from the closest castles to the city are already starting to arrive, we cannot just send them away now. Besides, I hear some of your own men want to take part in it as well."

That was the truth Jory wanted to take part and Ned did not have it in him to deny him, Sansa had also been breathless when she heard that they were to have a tourney and while his eldest daughter had never disobeyed him he knew that she would also not be quick to forgive him if he denied her this. "Yes, one or two of them."

"And their Lord? What about him?" Robert asked with a grin as he held a fatty piece of bacon in between his thumb and his finger. "You weren't half bad with a sword, as I can recall. Why don't you get on a horse and show all these fancy little shits how a real man fights, you'd beat the whole lot of them, you know that."

"Your Grace does me an honor to speak so kindly, though I am fairly certain that it is undeserved." Ned spoke and then brought his own horn up to drink from. "Regardless, I am not one to fight in tourneys. We do not truly have any of them in the North, we only fight when we truly have to and war is not a matter for games."

"Oh Ned, it's always good to know that no matter how much I change or how old I get, you are always going to be there to remind me of how miserable you northern lot are." Robert laughed loudly and, despite himself, Ned found himself smiling as well. He had missed Robert greatly, and being with him again made him feel younger than he had done in years and years.

But they were both men grown now, and each of them had their duties that needed them. Ned waited for Robert to calm down before he asked his next question. "Prince Lewyn, why did you extend him an invitation to court?"

Robert frowned. "The Dornish boy? Well, I didn't. It was Jon's idea in truth, he'd been writing to Doran Martell and apparently it was some scheme of theirs that they conjured up together, and I didn't see any reason not to have him here. I honestly don't speak to him to that much, no more than I speak to any other courtier anyway. Why? What about him?"

If the truth was to be told, Ned wasn't sure why he had brought up the heir to Dorne. He seemed to always be in the back of his mind as of late. Ever since Winterfell, in fact. Jon Arryn had been fine, an old man yes but strong and by all accounts nowhere near the end of his life, and then a sudden illness had just started in him that would cause the end of his life and Lewyn Martell was the only thing that had seemed to change at court before he had fallen ill.

The young man himself had claimed that he had only been at court for about half a year and that did not strike Ned as just a random chance, there was something else that he could not see happening. The fact that Stannis Baratheon had abandoned the city and sailed for Dragonstone as well, set a fire in his mind as he tried to understand.

Lysa had abandoned the city as well and made for the Eyrie with her son, and in her hidden message to Cat she had claimed that the Lannisters had killed Jon Arryn, that it had been the Queen who had done it. Was that the truth of it? Had it been Cersei Lannister who murdered Jon? Had she used Lewyn Martell as her catspaw? Did Lewyn Martell have nothing to do with it what so ever? Did the Queen have nothing to do with it? Was it someone else entirely?

Or was Jon not murdered at all, and the message that had been written to Cat just born out of the madness of grief? To be sure after his own Father and brother had died, his mind was filled with strange thoughts that at the time he thought them seemed only right, only for him later to look back on them and realize how foolish they had been.

In the end, it seemed. Ned knew nothing.

He finished his ale and his plate and begged his King for his leave and once Robert had granted it, Ned left his presence and began to make his way back to the Tower of the Hand. As he was crossing the courtyard, music began to reach his ears and he looked up to see a man sitting on a bench, strumming a strange instrument.

At first he did not think much of it, after all with the tourney being announced it would only make sense for singers and players to start arriving just as much as knights, but when he looked closer he realized that he was not any mere player and it was in fact Prince Lewyn, and laying curled at his feet was his elder daughter's wolf, the gentle creature seeming to be caught in a deep slumber.

Ned approached him and Prince Lewyn looked up as his shadow fell over him, a smile that Ned could not read appearing on his features. "Lord Stark, I suppose I should call you my Lord Hand now." He placed his instrument, it looked somewhat like a lute though it's neck was much shorter. "I am glad to see you, I hope that my playing did not disturb you."

"Not at all." Ned spoke as he looked at the instrument. "You play well."

"My lord is too kind, my skill with the Oud is nothing to be overly proud of. By the accounts of my cousin Nymeria, I have fingers too thick to play it properly. Like sausages, she says." Lewyn's lips twitched. "Of course, I must master it then if for no other purpose to show her how wrong she is."

"Of course." And despite himself, Ned could not help but feel his own lips twitch as it reminded him much of Benjen as he and Lyanna went off to the godswood, for their sparing lessons that they all thought that the rest of them did not know about. He glanced down at Lady who had just begin to stir, apparently displeased that the music had stopped. "I hope that my daughter's wolf is not bothering you, Sansa does her best to train her but a wolf is still a wolf and a direwolf will ever be even more wild."

"Oh, it is no trouble. I rather fear that Lady had grown somewhat fond of me." The Prince reached down and scratched behind the she-wolf's little grey ears, Lady tilting her head to rest it on his leg. "Lady Sansa does know that she is with me, she's taking her meal with the Queen and Princess Myrcella at the moment and poor Myrcella is rather afraid of them, I am afraid to say and so she asked me to keep her company."

"I see." And Ned did as he watched as Lady continued to nuzzle the Dornish boy for a moment before she settled back down on the ground and stared up at the Prince, who with a long suffering sigh sat back down on the stone bench and picked up his strange lute once again and began to strum it slowly. The direwolves did not allow anyone near them that they did not trust, and Lady seemed to trust Prince Leweyn.

Did that mean then that Ned should trust him as well? He wished that he had his own wolf, if the litter mother had survived than perhaps she would have been his wolf as well and he would know who to trust and who not to. But Lady trusted Prince Lewyn, and at least for the moment that was good enough for Ned and he allowed himself to relax, if only ever so slightly.

"Is my Lord looking forward to his tourney?" The reminder of that erased what little good mood Ned had managed to recover and he was not able to stop the heavy frown from spreading out across his face and Prince Lewyn seemed to notice it as well as a frown of his own appeared on his face. "I am sorry my Lord, I did not mean to cause offense."

"You caused no offense, Prince Lewyn. Merely an unpleasant reminder as I am afraid that the prospect of a tourney does little to cause me any sort of joy. Even less so, when it is in my own name." He knew it was a gesture that was kindly meant, most of Robert's gestures were but Ned wanted to bash his head against the nearest wall in response.

"I hope my Lord will not be wrought with me then when I tell him that I intend to take part in the tourney." Ned's shock must have shown on his face then as Prince Lewyn let out a little chuckle. "We Dornishmen do have tourneys, though certainly not to the extent of these kingdoms between the North and Dorne, but we do have them. And my uncle Oberyn would never forgive me if I did not do some thrashing myself, and I did make a promise that I would compete."

Ah, there was a lady involved. In that moment Ned was reminded of Brandon and how he would always try and impress some maiden or other with his skill at arms. More often than not it worked and it would get that poor maiden into trouble, Brandon always was lucky that none of his maids had gotten herself with child and then appeared at the gates of Winterfell.

He also hoped that Lewyn wouldn't get his maid into trouble either, but then he was Dornish.

"I must be off now, I will see my Prince another time." Ned bowed his head and walked off as Lewyn strummed another song on his strange lute, while Lady slumbered gently at his feet.

End of Chapter Eight

* * *

 **Wow.**

 **Okay first of all, I am so sorry for the delay. I fully intended to write another chapter and update it well before now, but sadly my father died this month, it was very sudden and came as a shock to all of us so writing, both any ideas and any will, was very hard to find and I only just recently got the drive back to do it.**

 **So, this is the first of anything I've written since then.**

 **So, a few things about the chapter itself. Ned's opinion of Lewyn, keep in mind that the North also shares some of the same racist beliefs about the Dornish as the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, the amount of distance between the North and Dorne and what little they do know of them is probably passed on to them by the other kingdoms, so yeah.**

 **Ned's suspicion of Lewyn is also more to do with the fact that he's trying to fit all of the pieces together about how Jon Arryn died, Lysa claims that the Lannisters killed him, the official story is that he's died from a sickness but there's also this boy from a kingdom that has been unofficially ostracized from the rest since the Rebellion who came to court just half a year before the Hand of the King died from an illness that just appeared out of nowhere.**

 **Lewyn is a suspect to Ned, cause everyone is.**

 **Next chapter, a Lewyn chapter and we get into the tourney. "Evil smirk."**

 **Please consider leaving a review, a follow and a favorite. Constructive Criticism is always welcome.**

 **With a ton of love and much gratitude,**

 **DiscordantSymphony**


	10. Chapter 9

The Prince of Dorne

Chapter Nine

The day had dawned brightly, and the sun burned as fiercely as it did in Dorne and the cheers of the people echoed in his ears like the sound of a war drum and Lewyn had to admit that for all his Father had never been overly fond of tourneys, he always much preferred to spend his own time reading and would always tell him that tourneys were expensive to host, Lewyn for the most part was of a mind with his Father in that, as he was with most things, but he did not mind competing in them every now and again.

It had been his uncle who had taught him how to use a lance after all, his Uncle who had put him on his first pony and lead him around the courtyard of the old palace, and how to use a lance when it came to both war and when it came to these games. Whenever Sunspear did host a tourney though, Lewyn had always done fairly well at them.

But even with that knowledge, he had always wondered when he had first come to King's Landing if he was truly any good when it came to the games. He was the heir to Sunspear and his Father had not been pleased when he had announced that he intended to take part in the games for the very first time and he had always wondered if his Father had made it clear that he would not tolerate it if his son and heir was harmed in any way.

His Father had always denied it of course, and he had lost as many tourneys as he had ever won when he competed, but ever in the back of his mind there was always the tiniest grain of doubt that he never could seem to rid himself off no matter how hard he tried to do so. But once he had arrived in King's Landing, his doubts had been proven wrong.

King Robert was like to throw a tourney whenever a squire learned to pick up a sword without stabbing himself in the eye with it and so Lewyn had plenty of opportunities to prove himself. In the half a year that he had been at court, there had been eight tourneys and he had placed high in all of them, one time even placing second in the joust.

But all of those tourneys had been fairly small, the farthest that anyone had come to partake in them was from the Riverlands and even then only from Maidenpool which if Lewyn had a Sand Steed from even the lowliest stable in Dorne was somewhere that he could reach in just slightly over day, and all of them had only a few hundred knights taking part in them, never more than five hundred.

But this was nothing like any of the others that he had ever taken part in, the sheer number of knights that were attending was the first thing that he noticed that was different. There had to be thousands of them, at least, from every single corner of the realm. When he had been a lad, his Father would sit with him for an hour every morning and an hour every night and they would go over the words and the sigil of the different houses from a different kingdom every day.

At the end of it, he knew most of the symbols of that had ridden into the city, there was still a larger presence of crownlanders due to their proximity to the capital, the lamb with the golden goblet of House Stokeworth, the three red chevronels on ermine of House Rosby, the two black warhammers on white and blue of House Rykker, the three red hart heads of House Harte and the golden antlers of House Buckwell had only been the first to arrive.

Then had came the banners from further afield, from the Stormlands had come the three brass buckles of House Buckler, the black raven on green of House Morrigen, the green pea pod of House Peasebury, the white owl on grey of House Mertyns, the two white quills on russet of House Penrose, the lightning bolt of House Dondarrion, and the turtle of House Estermont.

From the Reach had come almost double the number of banners from any other corner of the realm, the three yellow beehives on black of House Beesbury, the bull's skull of House Bulwer, House Fossoway was represented by both the red apple and the green apple, the grapes of Redwyne were present as well and there seemed to be some banners with melons and fire plums on it and Lewyn had to wonder why any House would choose to put fruit on their banner, but then in Dorne the Dalts of Lemonwood put lemons on their banners so it was not fair for him to criticize them for that.

Not when there were any lack of reasons to criticize men from the Reach.

As for Dorne, it did sadden him somewhat to see that his own kingdom was so thin on the ground here considering that ravens must have been sent there as well though when all was put to account it did not surprise him overly much, Dorne had ever been apart from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms since his aunt and his cousins had been put to the sword and there had been no great desire on either side for any sort of reconciliation

Lewyn coming to court had been the first attempt to mend a bridge, at least that was the face of it. The truth of it was that his Father had just as much sent him to be a spy on the court of the usurper as he had to make friends for Dorne, and he had done that as well as it turned out that Dorne had more friends North of the mountains than it might appear at first glance.

But they were friends whose faces would need to stay in the shadows, at least for the moment. Everywhere you looked in King's Landing the golden lion of House Lannister was flying from every high place in the city and the Red Keep, a constant reminder that while it might be a Baratheon who sat on the great iron monster in the middle of the Throne Room, it were the lions of Casterly Rock who were the true power in the realm.

Lewyn was going to kill all of them the same, it was what he knew that he was going to do ever since that night when his Father and his uncle had brought him into his Lord Father's solar when he was not yet ten and told him how exactly his aunt and cousins had died and to be sure they had spared no detail as they told him all.

Before that he had already sworn to himself that he would kill them all, but after that night when he heard what the Mountain that Rides had done to his aunt, how he had smashed Aegon's head against a wall until it was nothing more than a bloody ruin, how Amory Lorch had stabbed little Rhaenys a hundred times, how Tywin Lannister had wrapped them up in red cloaks to hide the blood stains and laid them before the Iron Throne as a gift to the new king.

And how Robert Baratheon had grinned and called two innocent babes who had done nothing to anyone dragonspawn. After he heard that, he knew that it would never be enough to just simply kill them. Oh no, he would have to hurt them for it. He would have to serve them all the pain and grief that he had felt, pound for bloody pound of it.

But that would be for later, there was a time to be the viper and there was a time to be the grass, sweet smelling and allowing anyone to walk on him as they pleased to do so. But it would not have to be forever. One day, when the time was right, it would be time for the viper to strike from beneath the grass and make an end to this mummer's farce.

But for now, he had to be the grass.

And if Dorne was so thinly represented here then as it's future ruler he would simply have to make sure that he placed high in the lists, if not at the very top of them. He had considered taking part in the melee but in the end he had decided against it, his Father might overlook him jousting but if he ever learned that he had fought in the melee he would never hear the end of it.

The Archery contest also held no great appeal for him either, he had been trained with a bow as with every other weapon but his aim with one had never been more than...serviceable, at best. So, it was the joust for him and naught else.

And of course, he had a promise to keep.

His squire, Allrick Ladybright who was the nephew of Alyse Ladybright who served as the lord treasurer of Sunspear for his own Lord Father, was preparing his armor and his lance and his horse for the joust and so Lewyn took the opportunity to explore the grounds, to see who else had appeared for the tourney. So far, no one had caught his interest.

It seemed that however he had caught someone else's, as a voice that had defintely deepened in all the years that had passed since he last heard it but on that he had hoped that he would not hear again reached his ears, calling out his name and demanding his attention and Lewyn had to fight the desire to groan out loud before he spun on his feet and forced a smile on his face. "Ser Loras! It has been far too long since I saw you last, how have you been?"

The knight of the flowers narrowed his eyes at him, he did have very pretty eyes. In fact, just about everything about the man was pretty. His brown hair fell in lazily ringlets around his face and his skin was pale and unblemished but the ugly look in his eyes made him look hideous and he was doing a terrible job of trying to hide his distaste.

"Prince Lewyn, it has been far too long indeed. In fact, it's been so long that for a moment I did not recognize you." The smile he wore when he spoke those words was as false Queen Cersei's. "In fact, it's been years hasn't it. When was the last time that I saw you? Oh yes, you had come with your uncle to the tourney at Highgarden. Do you remember?"

"Indeed I do." Ser Loras had been a little twit then as well, but he had the excuse then of being a child and not knowing much better. He did not have that excuse anymore. "I will never forget seeing Highgarden for the first time, it truly took my breath away. I thought that no castle in all of Westeros would ever surpass Sunspear in my eyes as the most beautiful but I was proven wrong with the first glance I had of your home. Oh! And the feast we had the night before the tourney, I am sure that I have never eaten so well before nor that I have ever eaten so again."

None of it was a lie, his Father had taught him that a good player of this game very rarely needed to lie. Sometimes, the truth of that matter was all that was needed. And the truth of it was when he had seen the white stone walls of Highgarden for the first time his breath had been stolen away by it. It was a beautiful castle, no man with working eyes in his skull could deny it for a fact.

And the feast that night, he had eaten so much that his belly had been fit to burst. Racks of venison ribs that had been encrusted with salt and pepper and sage, legs of lamb that had been served with mint, crab legs that they needed to crack open with tiny silver hammers in order to get to the meat within, an onion soup served with crusty brown bread, a pigeon pie, tarts filled with every sort of fruit imaginable, massive roundels of buttery cheese, lemon cakes, honey cakes and lavender biscuits.

It had, in it's own way, been perfect.

Of course nothing perfect could ever hope to last and it had been the first day of that tourney when the trouble had started. Lewyn was still to young to participate in a tourney and his Father had forbidden him for taking part in the one at Highgarden but he had allowed to him serve as Prince Oberyn's squire while he had participated.

His uncle had won his first two matches almost effortlessly but the third match would be the one that brought an end to the tourney before it should have done, Lewyn had still been young himself but it was clear even to him that Willas Tyrell should not have been on that horse at his age either, against his uncle it was like sending a a puppy to fight a wolf.

It wasn't his uncle's fault, Willas's leg got caught in a stirrup and he twisted it as he felt, bringing the horse down with him on to his leg. The scream that the heir to Highgarden had made had haunted his dreams for weeks after that. His uncle had jumped from his horse and had been the first to reach him, holding him in his arms and did what he could to sooth him as he called for his maester.

Of course, Mace Tyrell had been furious and for a horrible moment he had thought that he might have commanded for Prince Oberyn to be thrown into the dungeons of the castle, but if it was due to the gods being kind on them or the Fat Flower showing a bit of sense in his big empty skull, Lewyn could not say and he was not sure which was the most likely option.

His uncle had sent his maester to Willas's sickbed after he had been carried off and said maester had done all he could to see Willas through it with the best of his ability and if anyone were to ask Lewyn about it he would say that it was thanks to his uncle and the maester that Willas Tyrell still had a leg at all, even if it was a twisted one and he now had to walk with a stick by all accounts.

The Tyrells, loudly and often as they did everything, made it clear that they disagreed with the assessment. They had made it quite plain to anyone who would listen that they held Prince Oberyn personally responsible for Willas Tyrell's injury and nothing could be said that would change their mind about that. Well, from what he had heard it was really more only Mace Tyrell and his wizened little bitch of a mother who held that opinion.

Except now it seemed that Ser Loras shared it as well, any trace of civility was gone from him now and if his eyes were knives then Lewyn would have been stabbed a hundred thousand times over. "Spare me your honeyed words, my prince. Highgarden could have been half a ruin and every inch covered with bird droppings and we could have served you rotting offal and you would still have praised us all the more to try and soften the crime that your uncle did to my brother."

Well then, the knight of the flowers wanted to speak in plain words? Fair enough then, he would speak plain. "My uncle jousted against your brother in honorable combat, what happened to your brother after he fell from his horse was terrible and a shame and no one is more sorry for it than me but that does not change the fact that it was naught more than a cruel twist of fate, a careless tumble off of a horse."

"You may think that no one cares about what happens in Dorne but you're wrong." Ser Loras spoke as he shifted to try and make himself look taller, the most irritating thing was that it worked as the knight of the flowers was an inch taller than him. "Word of what happens in your sands does make it to Highgarden, on occasion, the news of the Prince of Dorne's own brother being exiled for slaying a man with a poisoned blade is the sort of news that many in the Reach found interesting."

Lewyn wanted to break his nose and see how he felt about that, but he knew that he could not. Yronwood was a sour subject and not one that was broached too easily by anyone in Sunspear, except Prince Oberyn himself who almost seemed to revel at the trouble he had caused when it came to that score, and Lewyn was no exception.

That incident was to blame for why he had almost no bond with his younger brother, he had tried as best he could over the years to remedy such a thing with letters and gifts sent on Quent's nameday and going to see him whenever the time allowed for it but the awful truth of it was that there was always a wall between him and Quentyn that no matter how many tries he tried to storm, he never could seem to break through.

So, his mood was not improved when he spoke again. "I heard that the dowager lady of Rushingbrook took tea with your own lady grandmother and on her way back to her castle and family from Highgarden caught ill, tell me, did Lady Olenna poison the tea or the lemon cakes?" Loras's face twisted into something ugly but Lewyn did not give him the moment to let loose his fury.

"The dowager lady of Rushingbrook was near ninety-five, she never should have even attempted such a journey, she caught a chill on the journey back to her home and died in her sleep. Anyone who suggests that your grandmother had her killed for displeasing her for some reason is a fool. All the same, such a story did find it's way into the court of the Old Palace."

Oh and had it, Lewyn had heard a thousand different versions of that tale. His favorite had been that the lady of Rushingbrook had been the Queen of Thorns former lover who had come to Highgarden and had threatened to inform her son of what they had done together when they had both been girls if she did not give her gold to help her proud but poor family and in alliteration the Queen of Thorns had her killed.

"Lord Yronwood was an old man as well when he and my uncle dueled and he was not the fittest man in the world besides. My uncle drew first blood with his blade and that was the end of it. But even strong young men can die from a bad cut if it festers and even the smallest cut can fester even if it is cleaned and treated in time, the stories that my uncle Oberyn poisoned that blade is naught more than filthy slander."

"The Yronwoods would disagree with that."

"The Yronwoods were kings, once so very long ago, they may not speak of it as much but they have long wanted that crown back. If they cannot have that then I assure you, they will settle for the princehood of Dorne quick enough." And that was part of the greatest concern when he thought about Quent and what poison Anders had poured in his ear and when it was time for him to come home, he would he still have a brother or would he have an enemy instead?

Ser Loras seemed to have lost some of the fire that had been driving him, if Lewyn were to assume he imagined that it was his own pride that was causing him to remain and fight with him more instead of withdrawing, a weakness that Lewyn would have to keep in mind when he dealt with Loras Tyrell in the future. "Our Maester made it clear that he could have saved Willas's leg, that he would have been able to walk as strongly as he had before. The fault for that lays in the maester that your uncle sent to treat him."

Lewyn bit his tongue in order to stop himself from doing or saying something that would no doubt cause more trouble later down the road that was not worth the satisfaction that it would cause him in the short term. "The horse had already fallen, good Ser. Your brother's bones were already broken, I imagine even the greatest healer in all the realms would not have been able to stop him from being crippled. Let us thank the gods that your brother can still walk at all and has both of his legs, some are not so lucky."

"And if I may recall to you Ser, that whatever unpleasantness that exists between our two houses it is not one that is shared by the parties most involved." You would assume that would be the most important thing when it came to it, but he had long ago let go of any hope of them games ever making any sort of sense to him. "My uncle writes to your brother often, they speak of breeds of houses and my uncle hold's Willas's opinion in very high regard indeed, if they bare one another no ill will then why should we do it for them?"

Loras frowned but he said nothing else and Lewyn supposed that they had reached an end to it. "Goodbye, Ser Loras. I wish you good fortune in the jousts." He walked away and Ser Loras did not call after him which was all for the good as Allrick would no doubt have everything ready for him by now.

He was not wrong, everything was ready when he had arrived back in the tent. His armor had been polished and his horse had been fed and it was near enough time for the games to begin but there was something his squire's eyes that made Lewyn stop and kneel in front of him. "Come on, what is it, you look like you've seen a ghost."

It might have been a jest once upon a time, but the boy looked terrified and he was Lewyn's responsibility and if something had happened to him then it was h duty to correct whatever had occurred. Allrick opened his mouth and he spoke but his words were so quiet that Lewyn could not hear him the first time so he bid him to speak again and louder.

"He's here. I saw him."

"Who?"

"The monster, the Mountain that Rides." Lewyn went cold and he clenched his hands into fists, it felt like he had been shoved into a copper tub filled with ice and water. Ser Gregor was here, he was here. Why was he here, he was meant to be in the Westerlands? Oh but of course, the ravens had gone there as well and that monster had been made a knight by the same mad fool who had shamed his Aunt Elia in front of all the lords and ladies of the realm, why would he not be here?

The horn cut through the chill, the jousts were about to start. Lewyn rose and kept his face as calm as he could and he could hear his father's words in his head. He was not here to do anything, he was not here to kill their enemies. He was only here to wait and watch and bring information back to Dorne that could use. He was to do nothing foolish. to

But underneath his father's words, he could hear his uncle. When would they ever have this chance again? Accidents happened in tourneys, after all. Who knew that better than them? A lance aimed just a little bit too high and how unfortunate it would be and Lewyn would be sure to go to sept of Baelor and plead to the gods to forgiveness, he would even allow himself to be confined to a penitents cell to fast on hard bread and water after his accident killing of poor Ser Gregor Clegane.

Oh, he never wanted anything more in the world.

"Allrick, arm and armor me."

His squire did his duty quickly and he was soon ready to ride and he walked to the stables to find his horse and he climbed atop him and Allrick passed him his lance and he waited for the crier to call his name.

As he waited there was some sort of commotion from the outside and not moments later word reached them that Ser Gregor Clegane's lance had accidentally pierced the throat of some young knight from the Vale. An accident, of course. He wondered what this young knight from the Vale had done to offend Lord Tywin so that he needed to die.

There were no more deaths after that, so he ought to be glad of that if nothing else. Soon enough it was Lewyn's turn at the tilt and he rode his horse out on the tourney grounds and as he rode he looked towards the tourney stands, and underneath his helm he smiled when his eyes landed on Sansa Stark, dressed in grey and white and with her Lady at her side as gentle and quiet as ever.

If he was as bold as his uncle, he might have asked her for his favor but he had not done so. Next time, perhaps.

His opponent was a knight from House Stokeworth and he only needed to ride at him once to unseat him from his house, his next match was against Ser Meryn Trant and he broke two lances on his shield before the third one knocked him from his seat.

The third match, was against the knight of the flowers. The man looked ridiculous, his armor was wrought with jeweled roses and his cape were roses, red and white, woven together. But that was not what mattered to him, not what so ever, what mattered to him was that the horse that he was riding was a mare and that mare was in head.

Underneath him, his stallion was starting to get unsettled and Lewyn bit his tongue to hold back his curses. He just had to end this quickly, that was all. He raised his lance and rode and prayed for a lucky hit.

But he broke his first lance, and his second and his third and Ser Loras still remained seated and it was getting harder and harder to keep his own mount under control with each second that passed and he knew that he had to do it now. The fourth lance was handed to him and he rode, he would not flinch and he would not look away.

Ser Loras was a second too late when it came to raising his shield and the point of landed square in the middle of his breastplate which knocked the man off the mare and sent him rolling off into the dirt. The groans and the boos that raised from the crowd made it clear that most of them had bet coin on Ser Loras being the victor but Lewyn did not mind, the dirty look that Ser Loras gave him as he ripped off his helm was more than reward enough. No champion's purse could be sweeter than that.

There was one more match before the final match up. Himself and Ser Gregor Clegane, Sandor Clegane had already sent the Kingslayer into the dirt and the image of him needing to be lead off in order to get his dented helm off was one that he was certain that was going to be with him for the rest of his days, he was sure of that. This was it.

By all the gods he was a monster, even ahorse on the massive beast he rode as he was, Gregor Clegane was bigger than any man that Lewyn had ever seen before in his entire life. A cold knot of fear filled in his gut as he stared at him and his grip on the lance tightened and he urged his stallion forward. He could not flinch, he just needed to knock him off of his horse. He rode.

Lewyn just barely got his shield up in time to avoid the mountain's lance slamming into him but the strength behind the lance made his arm shake and Lewyn had to grit his teeth into stop himself from calling out from the pain of it. He broke three lances against Ser Gregor's shield, and nothing would move him. Unless he caught him off guard, he was not going to fall.

And with each pass that they made one another, Lewyn was growing angrier. This was the man who murdered and raped his aunt, a princess of Dorne. Who had murdered his cousin, an innocent babe and a prince of the realm and he was here in front of him in front of cheering crowd. All knew what it was that he had done, and none of them had cared at all?

Where was the justice for them? Would he be the one who would have to deliver it?

If so, then let it be now.

A fresh lance was pressed into his hand, this one felt heavier than the others and Lewyn did not look at it. He only had eyes for Gregor in that moment and he galloped forward and raised his lance, aiming it straight at the monster's chest. He kept it aimed there until the last possible moment, until he could literally smell the stench of sweat and poppy coming off of the man, and then he jerked the lance up.

Against Ser Gregor's helm, the lance exploded into a thousand splinters and the foul beast let out a cry and fell from his horse and rolled over twice until he came to a stop on the ground, silent and not moving. Lewyn made his horse come to a stop and he looked at the man on the ground, his hands were sweating and he clung to the reins as tightly as he could.

The whole crowd was silent, Lewyn could hear his heart thumping in his chest like it was a war drum.

It took ten of the tourney workers to get Gregor on to his back at which point they took his helm off, and an eight inch splinter of wood had been jammed through the monster of a man's eye. He was dead. He was actually dead, he had done it. Lewyn had killed him. He had actually done it.

The King looked conflicted and the Queen looked furious but there was no call for him to be dragged off to the dungeons, so he was going to take that for a good sign. No, in that moment what worried him the most was the look on Sandor Clegane's face. He had seen the man angry before, he had seen him enraged when it came to that, but he had never seen him like this.

"I yield." The Hound balked and stormed off before anyone could say anything and after an unbearable few moments when it seemed like no one knew what it was that they should do, Lewyn was declared the victor of the tourney as Ser Gregor's body was taken away to be tended too by the Silent Sisters.

To have his body be cleaned by them, to be blessed and prayed over as befitted a knight and to be sent home to his keep to rest peaceful in his crypts when if there was any true justice in the world his body would have been thrown to the dogs and torn to shreds, it left a bitter taste on his tongue after the sweetness that had been the justice of finally ending Elia and Aegon's killer.

And there was still so much to do.

But that could keep until later, a crown of roses was laid on his lance and maybe it was just because of the thrill of his victory, but there was no doubt in his mind where it needed to go. He took the crown from the end of the lance and laid it gently on Sansa Stark's brow, her face flushed red and she looked more beautiful than ever. His Queen of Love and Beauty.

"For the future princess and queen, a crown to tide you over." Lewyn bent his head and rode off, keeping his head up high and not shrinking in the slightest as the eyes of every man and woman in the stands watched him go.

End of Chapter Nine

* * *

 **Welp another chapter done and wow I really enjoyed writing this one.**

 **Funnily enough, the plan for this chapter at first was for Lewyn to take Loras's place entirely and knock the Mountain off alive and then have him be saved by Sandor and the two of them would have been brought closer to one another which would have paid off later in the story. As you can tell, plans change.**

 **Sandor will still play a fairly large role in the story, but it's context is a lot different now. Remember, Gregor was his to kill.**

 **I hope everyone liked this chapter and I hope it gave you a better look into Lewyn's mind. And yeah, he's not...overly fond of the Tyrells, as a whole.**

 **Please consider leaving a review, a favorite and a follow.**

 **With a ton of love,**

 **DiscordantSymphony**


	11. Chapter 10

The Prince of Dorne

Chapter Ten

Sansa honestly wasn't sure what she had truly expected from her first tourney, she certainly had her hopes and her dreams for what it would be like and in some ways, it had been exactly like her dreams. Handsome knights in glorious and ornate armor that looked like it could hold an entire kingdom to ransom and noble, beautiful ladies had offered their knights their favor, tying them around their lances or those that were married to the champions tying them around their wrists to give them luck.

But no one had ever died in her dreams. The first had been that knight from the Vale, his name escaped her now but the sight of blood bubbling out from around the long, thin wooden splinter in his neck was a sight that she did not think she would ever be able to forget. Jeyne had wept so much at the sight of it that Septa Mordane had to take Jeyne away in order for her to regain her composure.

But Sansa remembered her lessons, a great lady did not give into her emotions and so she made sure to keep looking ahead like she did not see anything even if one of her hands did clutch at her skirts tightly while her other hand rested on Lady's back, Septa Mordane had not been pleased when Sansa had told her that she meant to take Lady with her into the stands but Sansa had sworn that she would be a good girl and she had been, as graceful and quiet as Sansa herself had been.

It had not stopped some of the lords and ladies in the stands from giving them both some odd looks and once or twice she had thought that she had heard someone stifle a chuckle but Lady had born it as graceful as Sansa had hoped she would. She had been her perfect companion through out it all and Sansa had never been more proud of her and she hoped that her Father would be proud of her as well when she told him, and proud of her for how well she had trained Lady.

She might not tell him about the small part of the day when she thought bringing Lady might have been a mistake, when Petyr Baelish, the King's Master of Coin, had come up to them to say hello and Lady had growled at him. Lady did not growl at anyone but she did at the man who at court was known as Littlefinger.

Sansa had apologized to him and Lord Petyr had accepted it graciously but something in his eyes scared her and he was glad when he went away from her, she had trained Lady to be good and she had never growled at anyone before and if Lady did not like him then there had to be a good reason for it, even as he spoke to her she found that she wasn't able to stop herself from moving closer to her direwolf, she hoped that Lord Baelish hadn't noticed.

Lord Baelish had merely chuckled when Lady growled at him and said something about never having the best of luck with wolves which Sansa didn't understand but it wasn't her place to ask and Lord Baelish left her alone after that and so she choose to turn her attention back on to the tourney while she stroke Lady to try and calm her.

Lady was calm again when the next tilt had been about to start and Sansa was glad for that an unable to stop herself from smiling a little when the herald announced that Prince Lewyn Martell of Dorne would be riding against Ser Arrick Waters, a household knight who was sworn to Lady Tanda Stokeworth.

Prince Lewyn looked magnificent in his armor, which while not as openly opulent as some of the other knights who were taking part in the tourney it was still beautiful, in it's own way. It was made from copper and it had been polished so thoroughly that Sansa could see all of the men and women in the stands reflected in the breast plate and it caught the light so finally that the Dornish prince almost seemed to glow, he was radiant.

His helm, unlike the rest of his armor, was bronze and a copper sunburst was mounted above his helm and the spurs of his boots were also shaped into sunburst as well. Those in the stands clapped politely and it wouldn't do for Sansa to make a scene of herself by clapping louder than anyone else in the stands but she did allow herself to smile when she saw him. She hoped that he noticed it.

Lewyn managed to defeat Ser Arrick with little trouble but all the same Sansa was still worried for him, she had never thought she would ever see anyone die at tourney before today and she didn't want Lewyn to die. It made watching all of his tilts not as enjoyable as the first few had been, when during his joust with Ser Meryn Trant the knight of the Kingsguard managed to break a lance against Lewyn's shield and it shattered into splinters it took all Sansa had not to cry out as she remembered the knight from the Vale chocking on his own blood and the horrible image of Lewyn being in his place.

She did not want him to die. It struck her in that moment, as memories rushed back to her of how kind he had been to her. How he had comforted her in the sept after Bran had fallen and broken his back and it seemed like everything was turning to dust when before it had been so perfect. How he had helped her when her Prince had been consumed with his rage and how he had helped her on to his horse and took her back to the rest of the host while her head was still spinning from the wine.

She didn't want him to die.

And that made watching every match that he was a part of a trial in and of itself, all the more that she could not express her concern for him without someone getting the wrong intention from her and so she could only watch with only Lady's presence to take strength and comfort from, her wolf's golden eyes had watched the matches so closely.

But Lewyn managed to defeat Ser Meryn and then it was on to the next match. The knight of the flowers had looked as glorious and beautiful as she had always thought he would be, with his lazy brown curls and golden eyes he looked like the perfect knight out all of her dreams and it was clear that the people, both high and low, loved him well indeed.

But Sansa barely noticed him, all her attention on Lewyn. Again, he seemed to find it fit to worry her. His horse, which was a beautiful creature in of itself, was acting odd and for a horrible moment Sansa thought that it was going to throw Lewyn off but the Prince managed to regain control of his horse and rode against Ser Loras.

It was a much closer match than his first two had been with Lewyn going through three lances before he was finally able to knock Ser Loras off his horse with the fourth one. The air was filled with boos and groans as Ser Loras rose to his feet from where he fell in the dirt and Sansa didn't understood why they seemed so angry, they had all been cheering for Lewyn when he had unhorsed his other foes.

At any rate, the booing didn't last long. In fact, soon enough it was replaced by laughter when Prince Joffery's sworn shield managed to unhorse Ser Jaime Lannister and the knight of the kingsguard's lion helm had been so damaged in the fall that he could not get it off and the crowd lost all composure at the sight of him blindly stumbling around, even Sansa needed to raise her hand to her mouth in order to stifle a giggle.

Once Ser Jaime had been lead off to have the helm removed it was then time for the next match, and this was the one that filled her with the most dread. Ser Gregor Clegane was massive, it was the first thing that anyone noticed about him. Truly, he most have been the largest man to ever live and Sansa didn't know how any horse could even hope to bare his weight, let alone in full armor.

Of course, it was not just the size of him that worried her. Father had never told her much about what had happened in the rebellion, he didn't like to speak about it often and Sansa had never really like the war stories but she had overheard him speaking to her Lady Mother once about Ser Gregor and her Father had seemed so angry as he spoke of him, saying that his head should have been stricken off instead of being made a knight.

And he had murdered Lewyn's aunt and his cousins as well and she prayed that was not a sort of omen for what would happen in this match. Ser Gregor had been the one to kill the man from the Vale and while no one else in his matches had died when they went up against him that thought did little to comfort her.

It was horrible to watch as Ser Gregor barreled toward Lewyn, even on horseback no man that large should be able to be that fast. His lance was raised and he bore down on Lewyn.

A cry nearly burst out of her throat when Gregor's lance slammed against Lewyn's shield, even from the stands she could see all the strength that went behind the blow and her own arm ached in pity for his and for a moment she hadn't wanted to watch anymore. She wanted to shut her eyes and go running off just like Jeyne had done.

But she wasn't a little girl anymore, she was going to be the Queen one day and she was a Stark of Winterfell besides. She wasn't going to look away.

That was when the next and last man died. Lewyn was given a fresh lance and rode towards Ser Gregor and The Mountain the Rides rode at him. In the last possible moment Lewyn jerked his lance up and the weapon smashed into Ser Gregor's helm and he fell from his horse and to the ground.

Everything that happened next was something of a blur, it took what seemed like an army worth of men to turn Ser Gregor on to his back and when they got his helm off Sansa's stomach turned when she saw that a long thin splinter of wood had been jammed into his eye from when the lance had exploded. Odd that such a little bit of wood in the end could fell a giant.

Then Prince Joffery's sworn shield, who had won his match and would have faced Lewyn in the next joust and was also Ser Gregor's brother, growled that he yielded and then stormed off and with that, Lewyn was named the victor of the joust and the crown that he would use to name the next Queen of Love and Beauty was placed at the end of his lance. It was such a beautiful crown, and she could not wait until it was her turn to have it laid on her head.

She did not think it would be that day that it happened. She excepted Lewyn to ride past her but he didn't and she knew that she should object, she didn't need her Septa to tell her how it would look but all the same the crown of beautiful flowers was placed atop her head and just like that she was named in front of every lord and lady there as the Queen of Love and Beauty.

Lewyn then declared that it was for the future princess and queen and she did not know what to think of it. It was the custom for unmarried knights or knights with no betrothal to crown the Queen or the greatest lady at the tourney in the place of their own choice but Queen Cersei was at the tourney and she did not look pleased.

If Prince Lewyn cared about what anyone thought of him and what he had done then he did not show it, instead once he had rested the crown on her head he whirled his house around and made his way out of sight even as everyone's eyes were on him and once he was gone and out of sight then all of their eyes were on her instead.

The tourney came to an end for the day, Sansa for herself felt both very tired and very hungry and the archery and the melee would both take place on the morrow, and soon enough they had all moved into the king's own feast tent, She wanted to take Lady with her but her Father had always told her to remember that Lady was not a lap pet to be fed by hand, she was a direwolf even if she was the most good and gentle and she needed to feed like one and so Sansa had let her go so she could go to the Kingswood to hunt.

As Sansa was the daughter of the Hand of the King and the betrothed of the heir to the throne she was afforded a place of honor at table close to the King's own. To be honest in that moment she wished she was a bastard like Jon, to be hidden in the corner where no one would even bother to look for her.

But she wasn't and so she was sat where almost everyone in the tent could have a good look at her and it was odd because everyone in her dreams were all looking at her as well but in her dreams they had all been smiling, none of them were smiling at her now. Most of them would glance away from her when she looked at them and then whispered to whoever was next them about her.

Really, she knew that she ought to take the crown off of her head. Septa Mordane had come over to her, she had returned from the Red Keep, where she had left Jeyne to rest after it was clear that she was not going to be able to regain her composure after seeing the knight from the Vale die, just in time for the feast and once she had realized what had happened she had tried to take the crown away from Sansa but Sansa would not let her.

She had done nothing wrong, after all. She had not asked Prince Lewyn to crown her but he had and she was the Queen of Love and Beauty and she didn't want to give it up. It was a courtly gesture, one kindly meant if perhaps a little brash of him and she would not hate him for that. He had called her the future Queen, the respect for her betrothal was there and that, as far Sansa was concerned, was the end of it.

At least it was the end of it until her prince came up to her, he had not competed in any of the tourney events but all the same he looked glorious in a crimson doublet and black trousers and black boots, his golden hair shone in the light of the torches and his green eyes were burning brighter than any torch could ever hope to do. There was a smile on his lovely lips that died when he came over to her and saw that she still had the crown that Lewyn had given her on her head.

"I think that I might have him whipped naked through the streets." Joffery said as he sat down next to her, his eyes would not look away from her crown. "I will do it myself and I will use his own whip to do it, to punish him for hitting me with it. Did you hear him back in the Riverlands, he threatened to poison me if I said anything to my Mother and Father."

Sansa glanced at Septa Mordane to see if she had heard any of it, but the Septa had overindulged with wine again and was now half asleep. Sansa did remember that day, vaguely at the very least. Much of that day was lost to wine and being sick in the night but she did remember the Prince's threat. Which, considering that Prince Lewyn was not dragged in front of King Robert and Queen Cersei in chains must have meant that he took the threat seriously enough. "I do my Prince, and it was very wrong of him. But-"

"But?" Her prince's voice sounded different then, before it had been filled with anger and indignation but now it had turned cold and the eyes that once had been on the crown of flowers were now fixed on her face. His nose scrunched up and his face fell into a scowl and she suddenly wished that she hadn't said anything at all.

Sansa cleared her throat, and glanced quickly back at Septa Mordane hoping that she would come to her rescue but the holy woman was now laying with her head on the table and a snoring that sounded like it should be coming from a wounded boar was now coming from her. "All I mean to say is that...I think perhaps he was worried that you were going to hurt my sister."

Sansa had been worried that he would do that, Arya was something of a terrible sister if she had to be honest about it. She would ruin her clothes, no matter how hard or long Sansa spent making them and she always had to make a scene about just about anything and she was too loud and dirty but in spite of all of that Arya was still her sister and Sansa would never wise for her to be dead.

"He certainly should not have done what he had done." The sound of Joffery screaming when the whip had struck his hand had been an awful sound and it had made her head hurt, she did have to wonder what Joffery had told the King and the Queen about what caused the injury if he had not told them the truth. "But he wanted to make sure that my sister was safe, what he did was wrong but his heart was in the right place."

Joffery's arm shot out as quick as Lewyn's whip had done and clamped around her wrist so tight that Sansa couldn't stop herself from wincing and she was certain that she could hear the seed pearls on her sleeves crunching underneath his grip. Joffery's face had gone pale with rage and his lips were pressed together firmly, his eyes stabbed into her like knives. "So when he threatened to poison me." His voice was deathly quiet. "His heart was in the right place, was it? Treason is acceptable in betrothed's eyes, threats against my person are acceptable."

"You're hurting me."

"I'll do worse." He squeezed her wrist so tight that Sansa wanted to cry, she looked around the feast tent but most of them were consumed with their food or had drank so much that they were asleep or did not notice. And those that did notice did not care, or know it was not their place to say anything and so Sansa was on her own. "I am going to be your husband and your king, it seems that your savage of a father and that drunken old wretch of a Septa never told you what it meant to be a true and loyal wife. Don't worry, I will be sure to give your correction."

"We'll start by taking that off." Joffery reached up and snatched the crown off of her head and Sansa knew better than to cry out, but it still made eyes burn when she watched as that beautiful and so delicate crown came apart in Joffery's hands with nothing more than a simple pull. He was ruining everything, everything had been so happy. Why did have to spoil it?

"My Prince, Lady Sansa, is everything well?" The voice made them both turn their heads in tandem to see Lewyn standing in front of their table, his eyes were narrowed at them both, no, they were narrowed at Joffery and it was the most impertinent look that Sansa had ever seen in anyone's eyes even though his tone was nothing ever more than respectful. "I do not mean to interrupt, I just thought I would come and say hello."

"Well, you've said it. Now, go away." Joffery spat at him, the coldness in his tone was gone now and the rage instead was clear as day.

"Of course my Prince." Sansa's stomach dropped as he said that and she wanted to tell him to stay, but she also knew that it would only make Joffery worse and so she forced a smile on her face like nothing was wrong at all. Lewyn did not make any sort of move to go away, however. "However my Prince, I do have a message for you from your Mother. She wishes to see you, at once she said."

Queen Cersei had left from the feast tent after she and King Robert had an argument at the king's table. A lady did not eavesdrop on the conversations of others but it sounded like it had something to do with the Queen not wanting her husband to partake in the melee, worried that someone would be able to do him harm. The King had exploded in a rage and the Queen, in all her pride, had returned to the Red Keep.

She might have been able to make it back to the Red Keep and seek out Prince Lewyn to send him back with a message for her son but she would not have had a great deal of time to do it in and why would she seek out Prince Lewyn to send a message to her son when she could have sent one of her ladies or a page to give the message.

Joffery it seemed have the same suspicion as his frown deepened, though he did let go of Sansa's arm which she was grateful for as she cradled it close to her stomach and under the table so no one would see. "Why would my mother send you to come and get me, what does she want of me?"

Lewyn shrugged his shoulders. "I am afraid that I did not ask my Prince, it is not for me to question the Queen after all. She did ask me to tell you that it was quite important."

"Fine." Joffery rose from the table and gave Sansa a look that sent a shiver down her spine before he began to look around the tent. "Hound! Hound to me!" He called for his sworn shield like he actually was a dog and a few moments later the man with the burned face was next to his prince, the stench wafting off him made it clear that he had been drinking heavily. "Escort me back to the Red Keep."

The man grunted and followed after Joffery but not before stopping to level a heavy glare at Lewyn who met the look with a neutral face, once it was clear that the glare would have no effect on him the Hound hurried after his master. Lewyn let out a heavy sigh and raised a hand to rub at his eyes once both Joffery and the Hound had left the tent. "Well, that's a friendship that I burned to the ground. My Father will be so disappointed in me."

Sansa wanted to say something to comfort him, but she wasn't sure what. As it stood, she didn't have the time to say anything as Prince Lewyn looked at her and then glanced down at the floor where the remains of her crown lay. The prince bent down to pick it up and held it in his hands for a moment and then he looked up into her face. "My Lady, I saw what was happening over here. I wanted to tell you that I am sorry, I never intended to cause you any difficulty. Or any pain."

"You aren't the one who hurt me, he did that." Sansa felt another heat behind her eyes following the stinging and she knew that soon she would forget all of her courtesies and all that was expected of her and she would start to weep and oh she did not want to do that. She wanted Lady to come back from hunting and to lick her tears away. "That was him, wasn't it? It wasn't wine or...it was just him."

"It was." At his answer the tears started and Sansa did not think they would ever stop and soon enough a hand was laid on her shoulder and she looked up to see Lewyn looking at her, his hands were warm and his eyes were kind and it did not stop her tears but having him close made her feel better than she had been.

"Boy!" The bellow made both of them jump, the King was on his feet from behind his table and he was leaning forward with his hands on the wood. If from rage or from wine, his face was red. "Over here now, you sack of Dornish piss."

Lewyn's eyes went cold then and he gave a short nod to Sansa before he walked over to the King's table. Once Lewyn had left her, the Lord Commander of the kingsguard came over to her and gave her a smile that struck her as being rather grandfatherly. "It is very late, my Lady. Your Lord Father will be worried for you, the King has tasked me with seeing you back safely to the Red Keep."

Sansa didn't want to go back to the Red Keep, she wanted to stay here and make sure that Lewyn would be all right but she knew that denying the request was tantamount to defying the King and Sansa could never do that. So, she remembered her courtesies and smiled up at Ser Barristan the Bold. "A generous offer, I thank you Ser."

Ser Barristan offered her a hand to help her and she accepted it and followed him to the entrance of the tent, taking a moment to glance back at the table where the King was standing, Lewyn on the other side of it on his knees with his head bowed and Sansa truly did wish that she could stay. That she could hear what was being said.

But she was a good girl and did her duty.

It was only when they were halfway back to the Red Keep, that she remembered that she left the remains of her crown back in the tent.

End of Chapter Ten

* * *

 **Well, I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter and if they did to please leave a review, a follow and a favorite. I always love getting inside of Sansa's head.**

 **Next chapter we are having a new P.O.V, two hints. One, they are a canon character who is not a P.O.V in the books. Two, they have a connection with Arianne. Looking forward to your guesses.**

 **With much respect and warmest regards,**

 **DiscordantSymphony**


	12. Chapter 11

The Prince of Dorne

Chapter Eleven

The sound of the whetstone being dragged across the steel of his blade was certainly one of the sweetest sounds that he had ever known, better in his mind than any woman's sigh or any brother's laugh. After all, he had given both of those things up and more besides to be where he was now and he had never regretted it.

Except once.

When Lewyn Martell had ridden through the gates of the Red Keep with his escort of guards it had been like a stone had settled in the pit of his stomach. Once, a very long time ago when he had just been a little boy who needed to sit on top of his father's shoulders he had seen Princess Loreza riding through the streets of the Shadow City up through to the sept within the winding walls.

He had been in the shadow of the sept, a place of high honor and of comfort as the great building, while nowhere near the equal of Baelor's sept, was still by far the largest building within the walls of Sunspear, as he had watched the Princess ride until she reached the foot of the steps and then she began to ride up them to the sept.

And as she neared the top she had looked at him and something in her eyes had scared him, it had not been a hostile look; why would it be? He had just been a child after all and she probably did not even know what his name had been but her gaze was so intense that it had scared him a little as she descended from her mount and was led by her ladies into the sept where her future husband and the future Prince Consort of Dorne would be waiting for her.

Lewyn Martell had his grandmother's eyes, the color was not the same as the Princess Loreza's had been and while he could not be sure as he had never laid eyes on the woman he had to assume that the dark amber had come from Doran Martell's Norvosi wife, but the color of his eyes did not matter. It was the same sort of intensity in his gaze as he looked over the court yard of the great castle atop Aegon's high hill, taking in every single inch of it.

And when his gaze had fallen on to him, Ser Aron Santagar felt like he was a small child once again and he had wished in that moment that his Father was still alive so that he could hide behind him. Of course, he felt shame afterwards for feeling fear from such a younger man, barely more than a child in truth, but ever since the rebellion...well, he had made his choice hadn't he?

It had been years since he had last step foot in Dorne, the last time was when Jon Arryn had gone to take Elia's bones back with him and the Hand of the King thought that it would be for the best for him to have a Dornishman in his retinue, Aron did not think that he had been of much help if the truth was to be told as most everyone in Dorne, many of them dear old friends who he had drunk with and bleed with and laid with in equal measure all glared at him like he was a stranger.

Of course tensions were worse back then, it would not take a Maester to realize that the Hand of the King had not come all the way to Dorne simply to bring back the bones of poor Elia. The Spider's spies had heard whispers of rebellion coming up through the mountains with Prince Oberyn at the head of it, and it would be Oberyn as Aron knew that Doran would never be so foolish as to think that Dorne would ever be able to stand against the Iron Throne on it's own.

Apparently Oberyn had been riding all across of Dorne in order to try and convince all of the lords and ladies to pledge their armies to Viserys Targaryen, who had fled across the Narrow Sea with his newborn sister and a handful of knights who still remained loyal to the Targaryen cause. Of course, no lord with any sense would rise behind someone who, back then, had been a boy with only a handful of men around him and King Robert's assassins ever far behind him.

But whatever sense Prince Oberyn had in his head was always outweighed by his rage and his thirst for blood, he had adored his sister and her children and the man would never know the slightest hint of peace until they had been avenged and if it was needed that he had to drown all Seven Kingdoms in blood to see it done then so be it.

His older brother, as always, showed that he had more sense and that they were fortunate that the gods had made him the Princess Loreza's eldest child and not her youngest. He had his men bring back his brother to Sunspear and then imprisoned him, somewhere out of sight of the both of them while they were his guests in the Old Palace.

When Prince Doran and Lord Jon had left him then to go into the prince's solar to discuss something in private, Aron decided to go and explore. He hadn't been to Sunspear in years after all, not since before the rebellion.

His exploration of the castle, unfortunately, did not bring him any joy and any fond memories he might recall of exploring those corridors when he was younger and his Father had come to visit the princess and took both Aron and his older brother with him were soon soured as those nobles who held court in Sunspear glared at him, hate and mistrust in all their eyes as his every word was turned over and over, looking for any hint of a plot to harm Dorne.

They did not trust him and it was in that moment that Aron knew that Dorne was not his home any longer, perhaps it had not been for a very long time. He had left it when Mad Aerys was still sitting on the throne, he was a younger son and he wanted to find some honor and glory for himself. His father had agreed to let him go and Aron had never been prouder when he had given him a fresh forged blade and the finest sand steed from his stables as a farewell present.

Once he had left Dorne, he had spent some time as a hedge knight and made something of a name for himself when rode against the kingswood brotherhood alongside Ser Arthur Dayne, he did not slay the smiling knight and nor did he put an end to Wenda the White Fawn, but his blade had not been clean when all was said and done.

He was even invited to the Red Keep for a fest in celebration of finally putting an end to the brotherhood, he had never eaten so well in his life even when he did feast inside of Sunspear. Massive slabs of Auroch meat that had been pierced on a spit, seasoned with salt and pepper. Legs of lamb cooked with mint, ducks roasted with cherries till their skins had turned bright red, pork pies stuffed to bursting with with chunks of seasoned pork, rough chopped mushrooms and carrots and all swimming in a savory gravy.

It was not as spiced as the food that he had been raised on in Dorne, but in truth he did not mind that so overly much and it was perfectly fine in it's own way. Though he would not deny that when he had come back to Dorne after so long, the fiery spices that danced on his tongue had been well missed.

He had seen the King for the first time that night and when he had he remembered thinking that the whispers of how the King was mad must just have been foul slander, how could the handsome man with his richly decorated purple robes and long silver gold hair be capable of even half the things he had heard about? He was such a fool, back then.

If he had known what was to come, he might have slit the madman's throat as soon as he could. How many lives would have been saved if someone had been bold enough to put some poison in his cup? But no had and the noble lords who still surrounded Robert Baratheon to this day and who cheered for the death of the Mad King, still sneered at the man who had done the deed.

But he had been young and a fool and drunk on sweet Reach wine and drunk on the hope of more honor and glory and he, like so many others then and now shut his eyes to the horrors that occurred much later on. Aron stayed at court then, Elia Martell was to bed wed to Rhaegar Targaryen after all and a great many Dornish lords and ladies had followed their precious princess up to the Red Keep, one more made little difference to the King.

And then there had been the Rebellion, madness and stupidity leading to one tragedy after another. He had been with Prince Lewyn, the namesake of the younger one, when he had ridden to take command of the ten thousand men who had come up from Dorne in order to prove his loyalty to the King and he was one of the few men from Dorne who had managed to survive the battle at the Trident.

The first time he had ever seen Robert Baratheon was that day when he, Ser Barristan Selmy, and a dozen dozen other knights and lords who had fought alongside Prince Rhaegar were brought before him. Apparently he had suffered a wound from his duel with Rhaegar in the waters of the ruby ford before he had crushed the man's breastplate and his chest but even so he still looked magnificent, exactly like the rebel king that Lewyn had been imagining.

Of course, he had been imagining cutting his head off and not bending the knee to him when they did finally meet but nothing had turned out the way any of them had expected it to and when all of them bent the knee to him, King Robert had helped them all back up to their feet and welcomed them back into his peace.

Soon enough word had come of what had happened at King's Landing, Lord Tywin had sacked the city and Aerys of the House Targaryen, second of his name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the First Men and the Rhoynar and the Protector of the Realm was dead. None had truly been unhappy to hear about that, even his most ardent loyalist had not been blind to what it was that he had become.

But any hope from Dorne that they might have a better king was lost when the next word was that Princess Elia had been raped and murdered and her children butchered and most of the Dornishmen then left Robert's side to make their way back to Dorne, but Aron had not gone with them. Instead, he chose to remain at Robert's side as he rode up to the Red Keep.

When all was said and done, and when the wrapped up bodies of the children had been taken out of King Robert's side, Aron received his reward. In truth, he did not doubt that it was Jon Arryn's idea to name him the master-of-arms for the Red Keep, something to try and sooth Dorne's wounds. He doubted that it worked very much, considering that most in Dorne had never heard of him.

And that visit to Sunspear had just proved it, they no longer trusted him and thought of him as nothing more than a traitor. Once, such a realization might have hurt him but he had left Dorne to find his own place in the world and he had done that and so he had closed his eyes and his heart to their glares and their mutterings of betrayal, it didn't matter now.

In the end Jon Arryn was successful in what he had come to Dorne to do, bringing back Elia's bones to her home and ensuring that Dorne, even if it would not come back completely into the fold would at least not raise itself in open rebellion. He had not stepped foot in Dorne again since that day, any letters that he received from his brother or his mother he had burn until he stopped receiving them.

And he truly hadn't regretted it, he was the master-at-arms in the king's own castle and one day soon he would teach Prince Joffrey and Prince Tommen how to use a blade themselves, though if the truth was to be told Prince Joffrey should have learned how to use a blade long before now and he had thought when he got the new blade for his last nameday that the Queen might have finally allowed him to train the future king but Queen Cersei had not been moved and said that she would not allow either of her sons to run the risk of gaining even a scratch.

But the thought of another Dornishman in the court, and a Martell at that, set his teeth on edge. He didn't know much of Lewyn Martell at all, but the way he had looked at him on his first day at court...it hadn't sent a shiver down his spine and he had dreaded what the Red Viper must have told his nephew about him.

But the boy had not spoken a word to him since the day that he had arrived, indeed he seemed to have made it a point to stay as far away from him as possible since he had arrived. Indeed, the boy did not come out into the yard to train at all when Aron was present and the only time that he had ever seen Lewyn was at distance, speaking to some lord or lady or the other.

Recently, it seemed as though the heir to Dorne had earned the King's ire and it wasn't as though Aron did not understand why. Everyone at court quickly learned that the King still greatly missed his Lady Lyanna who had been betrothed to him and who had been stolen away from him by a prince who had crowned her as his Queen of Love and Beauty at another tourney.

It must angered him greatly to see another prince, even if Prince Lewyn was not a royal one, crown another Stark as his Queen of Love and Beauty when said Stark was betrothed to his own son. It also surprised Aron, it was the sort of thing that Prince Oberyn would do but the words that he had spoken loudly enough for everyone to hear was the sort of move that Prince Doran would do.

Maybe Dorne would have done better if he had been sired by his grandmother as the eldest instead of being sired by his father, but then who could truly say. Maybe he would have made Dorne a thousand times worse.

The King had been drunk when at the feast tent he had called for the heir of Sunspear to come to the high table, Aron was not so near that he could hear what the King was saying but he certainly did not look pleased and as more time passed between the pair of them speaking to one another Robert only seemed to grow louder and louder until he cursed and dismissed Lewyn, ordering him to leave his sight at once.

The boy had spent the last few days out of sight, now that he thought of it. In truth it might be the best thing for him to do. It did not take long for the King's Hand to heard what had happened at the tourney and he, by all accounts, was just as enraged as the King only he showed it by being cold to all around him and letting his displeasure radiate off of him.

He imagined that it had to hurt a great deal for Lord Eddard, considering that Lyanna Stark had been his own sister and his daughter, who was if Aron was any judge around the same age as Lyanna Stark had been back then if not ever so slightly older, was who Lewyn Martell had crowned at the tourney that had been done in his name.

Prince Joffery and the Queen were said to be wroth as well and Sandor Clegane was spitting teeth when it came to what happened to his brother, when that was a death that rightfully belonged to him. Yes, it seemed that Prince Lewyn, who had been quiet and subtle for so long until this point had made a great deal of enemies in just one move. Doran Martell would be so disappointed with his son, Oberyn Martell would clap his nephew on the back and buy him a whore no doubt about that.

"No matter how much you tend to your blade Ser, it will never hold quite the same edge as Valyrian Steel. It is as sharp as it is going to get, I need words with you." The voice cut through the air and while his blade might not be Valyrian Steel, the tone was as sharp as sharp could ever be and it forced Aron to swallow roughly.

He placed his blade back in his scabbard and stood, reminding himself in his mind that he was an anointed knight and he had survived more than one war and no little lordling was going to make him feel afraid. He turned to face Lewyn Martell, who was standing their so at ease that one would think that he had come to speak to him every single day. "My Prince, how may I help you?"

Prince Lewyn seemed amused for a moment, glancing down at his feet with a mirthful smile before he glanced back up at Aron's face. "Your Prince, I am that, aren't I Ser Aron? Your Father swore vows to my Grandmother and then to my Father, your brother Symon swore those vows to my Father as well and when I am Prince of Dorne your niece Sylva will swear those vows to me when she inherits Spottswood, have you met your niece Ser Aron?"

Aron could not stop the frown from spreading across his face even if he cared to try and do so, he had heard that he had a niece and no doubt his brother had sent him a raven to tell him that he was an uncle but those words, if they had been sent, had burned with all the overs with their wax seals still in place until they had melted. "I have not yet had that pleasure, my Prince. Though I have heard that she is a dutiful girl, and quick witted and that my brother is very fond of her."

He had heard none of that, but it seemed like it was the right sort of things to say. Lewyn Martell nodded again before he spoke.

"I have had the honor of meeting your niece, in point of fact good Ser. She is one of my sister Arianne's ladies-in-waiting and is indeed one of her dearest friends by all counts." He smile then, and Aron did not know if the smile looked more like one of Prince Oberyn's or Prince Doran's and he did not know which one he should hope for. "You know, titles and inheritance are always so complicated. I can not always understand them."

"Take your House, Ser Aron. House Santagar. You are a house of landed knights, therefore you are not lords. Your brother is addressed as Ser and his title is that of the Knight of Spottswood. Dearest Sylva is his heir, as she is his eldest child and such is how the law of succession works Dorne. In case you have forgotten."

"I have not." And in that one moment Aron wanted to punch the smug little shit in the face. "May I ask why I am being given this lesson, my Prince, of things that I already knew."

"Have patience good Ser, I am getting to that. Even in Dorne, women can not be knights. Oh, they can fight but the Faith would kick up such a fuss if we tried to knight any of them, even if most of them deserve it more than most men. As such, Sylva will inherit Spottswood as well as all the lands that belong to House Santagar, but she can not inherit the title of the Knight of Spottswood, that has to go to the nearest male relative."

"Now, if she had a younger brother then there would be no issue. But oh so sadly she does not, not that your brother hasn't tried to rectify that. You don't just have one niece Ser Aron, you have twelve." The bloom of shame spread wide in his chest but Lewyn Martell would not let up his assault. "And your brother's wife died in the birthing bed bringing their twelfth babe into this world, it is a shame. If you had stayed in Dorne, with your family, then your brother would not have been so desperate to have a son. His daughter could have Spottswood, and you could have a grand title and no doubt some lands of your own. A pity."

Lewyn did not allow him a moment of respite. "Regardless, as your brother's brother you are the closest male relative and thus the title of the Knight of Spottswood goes to you, if not the lands and the castle. As such, good Ser, you are the heir to that title and as such are one of my Father's bannermen and one day you will be mine as well. Do you deny that?"

Aron bent his head, he did not want to look at him any more. Let them say that a lordling had scolded him into submission, he didn't care. He just want those damn eyes to not burn into him any more, like Loreza Martell's had done so very long ago. "No, my Prince, I do not deny that. I am a bannerman of House Martell, as loyal to you as my brother and his daughter."

"Well, that is very good Ser Aron Santagar." His voice had gone very quiet, but it was filled with triumph. "Because, my good and noble future knight of Spottswood, I have need of you."

End of Chapter Eleven

* * *

 **Woof, okay so a couple of things.**

 **One, Aron Santagar is a canon character for those who do not know that. He is the Master-at-Arms at the Red Keep and all we know of him is that he is somewhat vain, at least according to Ser Rodrik. In the books, he dies during the Bread Riots in King's Landing in ACOK and the position of Master-At-Arms is still not filled by A Feast For Crows.  
**

 **As such, quite a bit of this chapter is explain who the hell he is and expanding on the very, very little that we got from the books. I certainly hope that it seemed at least somewhat believable. Oh, and his connection to Arianne if it wasn't made clear enough is that his niece Sylva is one of her ladies-in-waiting, but I loved some of the guesses that I got!**

 **Second of all, we got to see a bit of a different side of Lewyn in this chapter that I really like to explore. I think we mainly saw Elia's compassion in him when he was dealing with Jon and Sansa, and we saw Oberyn's vengeance in him during the tourney but I hope that this chapter left no doubt in anyone's mind.**

 **Doran Martell is his Father.**

 **Oh, and one more little cool thing, The Prince of Dorne now has it's own page on TV Tropes! This means it is my second ever fic to have one which I am really chuffed about, I would have been happy with just one of my fics having a page but I have two and that is so amazing and I love it and thank you so much to everyone.**

 **Finally, I hope everyone who enjoyed this chapter will consider following, putting this story in your favourites and leaving a review. It always means so much to me and constructive criticism is always welcome.**

 **With deepest regard,**

 **DiscordantSymphony**


	13. Chapter 12

The Prince of Dorne

Chapter Twelve

Sansa smiled as she handed a piece of bread that had been lightly scraped with spiced pumpkin butter to Lady where she lay underneath the table, her Father might have been right that Lady was a wolf and that she needed to hunt but that didn't mean that her wolf needed to hunt for all of her food and Sansa always wanted her at her side.

A giggle left her throat as Lady took the bread from her hand with her mouth, her cold wet nose pressing against the palm of her hand and licking it for a moment to be sure she got any crumbs, and then laid her head in Sansa's lap. Sansa pet her and smoothed Lady's ears back and bent her head to press a kiss to the top of her head.

It was a comforting moment and Sansa had taken a great deal of strength from them as of late. The whole world seemed to have turned on it's head and Sansa did not know where to turn or how she was meant to feel. No, that wasn't true. She always knew how she was meant to feel, how any Lady would feel in any situation and how to bare it gracefully, but that was not how she felt and quite frankly she did not wish to bear it gracefully.

She had not spoke to Prince Joffery since the tourney, she did not want to speak to him anymore. He had been so utterly awful to her at the tourney, nothing at all like the Prince in her dreams who always spoke to her so very gently and would never do anything to harm her. It had hurt to know that Joffery was not that Prince, that he never had been at all.

Nor had she spoken to Prince Lewyn since the tourney either but that was not by her own choice, her Lord Father had not been pleased when he had heard what had happened to the tourney. Sansa did not think that she had even seen him that angry, he had not yelled at her or said anything cruel to her but he had summoned her into his solar at the top of the Tower of the Hand and stared at her for a long moment, not saying anything and perhaps for the first time that Sansa could remember she was afraid of her Father.

Then he started to ask her things, things about Prince Lewyn. How much time that she had been spending with him, if Septa Mordane had always been with her every time they had spoke, if he had asked anything of her. It did not take long for Sansa to understand what her Father was trying to figure out and a sort of numbness settled in her then.

She had not truly thought about it, she had thought that Lewyn's cleverly chosen words had been enough to throw off any sort of implication of impropriety. But she had been too caught up in all of it that night, too caught up in the way that beautiful crown of flowers had felt on her head, too caught up in how kind Lewyn had been to her, to understand how it would look.

They all thought that she was a ruined woman now, they thought that she had been unfaithful to Joffery. That no doubt would be the end of the betrothal now, it was odd to think about considering that not more than a few weeks ago such a realization would be enough to send her fleeing into her bedchamber to bury her face inside her pillows, to wet them with her tears as she snuggled with Lady for comfort.

But no, it was such a odd thing to come to terms with but she did not care if her betrothal to Joffery was at end, even the thought of becoming Queen did not hold so great an appeal to her that she would wish to be married to him simply to have a crown, he was so cruel and no doubt that a crown would only make him worse. King Robert was certainly enough proof of that, nothing like the peerless warrior from the stories and songs that she had heard.

No, what did concern her was what her Lady Mother would think of her. Sansa had always been the good girl, the obedient girl, the one who had always done what she was told without a mummer of complaint. But she had a betrothal to the heir of the Iron Throne, and she had burnt it to the ground. Would her Mother no longer want her, would she send her away?

Lady, who had come out from beneath the table so that she could stand to her full height, licked at Sansa's face and for a moment all of Sansa's worries drifted away from her. Lady had been growing quickly and it was so hard to think that not so long ago she had been a little pup who had fit in Sansa's arms and who needed to be fed with a towel that had been dipped in goat's milk.

And now she was bigger than most of the dogs in Winterfell's kennel had ever been, she could probably kill any one of them with ease. "Do you ever think about having a husband?" Sansa asked her gentle companion, running her fingers through her fur. Lady blinked at her yellow eyes at her and maybe there was something in what the southerners said that they were too wild but Sansa was certain that there was some sort of wild wisdom in those eyes.

"Maybe you're clever enough not to have them." Oh, if Septa Mordane could hear her now but the Septa had taken Jeyne with her to the Red Keep's sept for morning prayers ordinarily Sansa would have gone with them but her Father had since made it clear to her that she was not to leave the Tower of the Hand without his express permission and in truth Sansa did not feel like praying and so she had smiled sweetly and told the Septa that she did not wish to bother her Lord Father and thus she had been left alone.

The door to the breakfast chamber opened then and Nymeria rushed into the room as a dark grey blur, she may have belonged to her younger sister but Nymeria was already larger than Lady and just like Lady she did not seemed inclined to slow down at all. Lady moved over to her sister and nipped at her side and Nymeria answered with a lick to Lady's face.

Of course wherever Nymeria was, Arya was sure to follow her. As with most mornings Arya was a mess and instead of a dress she was wearing a brown linen shirt and a pair of grey trousers with brown shapeless shoes on her feet. As their wolves played in the corner Arya came over to the table and ripped off a massive chunk of warm brown bread away from the rest of the loaf and then dropped a large blob of the pumpkin butter atop it before thickly spreading it across the bread.

Arya finished it in two quick bites and then quickly reached for another piece of bread and spread that even thicker with pumpkin butter than the last piece. "Are you going to your dancing lesson again today?" Sansa asked as she reached out and picked up the flagon full of honey and milk and poured herself a cup of it before remembering her courtesies and pouring her sister a cup as well.

The sweet milk did not last any longer than the bread had done and Arya slammed the cup down on to the table so loudly that Sansa could not stop herself from flinching slightly, even though she knew that her sister mean no harm. "Yes! Syrio says that I am getting better and better all the time, we might be moving on to something new today."

Sansa did not wish to be cruel, but she doubted the teacher that their Father had found for their sister if he thought that she was actually showing any sort of sign of improvement. She always came back from her lessons covered in bruises and sometimes she was even limping to her own bedchamber, if it wasn't Arya's fault for being clumsy then certainly she needed a better teacher.

But Sansa would never criticize her Lord Father, it was not her place to do so and she would certainly not do it now when she seemed to be so out of his favor. He had not come out of his solar to break his fast yet, in point of fact he had been in there the entire night and Sansa had to wonder if he had even been able to sleep yet.

Soon enough Arya left her with Nymeria at her heels, she did have to wonder what her dancing master thought about his charge's giant wolf that followed her loyally everywhere she went, and Sansa and Lady were left on their own once again.

A great lady always made the best of her time, and a truly great one always find something worthy to do with said time. Sansa could not leave the Tower of the Hand without her Father's leave but that did not matter. She found her embriodery hoop and set to work with her needle as Lady slumbered peacefully at her feet.

It certainly made the time pass quicker, if nothing else. As she was working the door to the chamber opened again and her Father's steward, who was also Jeyne's Father, came in and informed her that she was to pack her things as quickly as possible and then they would be on their way. Sansa sighed and nodded and dismissed the steward.

This had been a surprise from the night before, that they were going back to Winterfell. She had not been pleased when she had learned of it, not for Joffery's sake but for the fact that she would not be able to speak to Lewyn before she left. She wasn't entirely sure what she would say, if the truth was to be told. But she did want to say something to him.

Sansa put her needlework to the side and rose from her chair and made her way into her bedchamber, Lady silently following at her feet. Most of her clothes were very carefully arranged and her Father had already had the servants bring the trunks into her room the night before so she could pack quickly, in truth she had meant to start the night before but she had not been able to find the will to do it.

More as like her little sister had already finished her packing, in truth she had been in a much better temperament that Sansa had been as of late and the news that they would be returning to Winterfell had only cheered her all the more. Sansa was uncertain what to think or feel at the news if she was to tell the truth about it.

She had missed her brothers, that much was true. She had missed watching Robb spare with Theon in the middle of the yard, under the watchful eye of Ser Rodrik. She missed watching Bran read and running after Robb and holding a wooden blade up high and proclaiming himself some great knight from one of the songs, a different one each time. She missed holding baby Rickon's hand and helping him learn how to walk, and then watching him run across the yard after some poor duck or chicken that her brother had convinced himself was the greatest monster in all of the realm.

She had even missed Jon, which was odd as she had never been close to her half brother as she had truly only ever seen him as the insult that his presence was to her Mother but after being away from Winterfell for as long as she had it almost seemed silly now. When they arrived back at Winterfell, she might try and mend their fences.

But leaving King's Landing still felt wrong, even if she did not want to be married to Joffery anymore. She did not wish to leave, without saying goodbye to him. Gods take how it looked, it was what she wanted.

The door to her bedchamber opened as she was folding the pretty dress she intended to wear to tea in the Queen's wheelhouse into the trunk on the bed and she turned to find that her Father was waiting for her, he looked so tired and like he had aged a hundred years over night and Sansa hated to think that she had added to his worries in any way.

He certainly had enough to deal with at the moment, there had been raids into the Riverlands by some of Lord Tywin's knights, fields had been burned and the smallfolk in the villages had come to the capital to beg for the King's aid and protection but the King had been out hunting in the woods and so only her Father had heard about the scorpion knight and his band of villains.

Her Father had sworn to send men after them and Sansa thought that it could not have sounded any more like a song if Prince Lewyn had volunteered to go, but Jeyne had told her that he had not when she return to the tower to give her a report of what had happened at the court that day.

"Sansa, where is Septa Mordane and Jeyne?" Her Father spoke, and his voice sounded weary. Was she wrong, or could she hear men speaking behind her Father in the small dining chamber outside of bedchamber? One of the voices did sound familiar, it wasn't one of her Father's guards, most of them had been sent off after the men in the Riverlands, but she could not place it at all.

"They went to go and pray in the Sept, Father." He looked irritated at that and Sansa spoke quickly to avoid her friend or her septa from getting into any trouble. "They go and pray at this time, every morning. I would normally go with them and I would always ask your permission, but I did not feel like going and so we did not see the need to bother you as you've been working so hard, I've been confined to the tower of the Hand, not them."

"All right." He let out a long suffering sigh then and rubbed at his eyes. "And your sister?" She quickly told him that she was below, with her dancing master and Lord Stark nodded. "Very well, Sansa I have something to do that is very important and it is likely that I will not be back until later on in the evening. Do not leave the tower, not until I return. Do you understand?"

Sansa nodded and her Father stepped closer to her and looked uncomfortable for a moment, but only for a moment before he took her into his arms and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Sansa was shocked into silence, while she had no doubt that her Father loved her well she was not used to such a display of tenderness.

Before she had any time to try and question it, her Father left the room and Sansa was left with Lady to finish her packing. Sansa packed quickly and then left her chamber to go and sit at the breakfast table, trying to convince herself that there was nothing wrong.

It was a little later when she started to grow concerned, as surely Jeyne and Septa Mordane should have been back from praying by now and the entire castle seemed so very silent. There was always noise, always someone shouting across the yard at someone, the sound of the winch of the well creaking through air, the giggling of a maid at something shocking a guardsman had said, children laughing. There was always noise.

But not now, the castle sounded like it had been completely abandoned.

Lady howled then, so suddenly and so loudly that Sansa let out a shriek of her own. Before she could even gather her nerves and chastise her wolf for scaring her so, the air was filled with another sound. Bells, it was the sound of bells. Baelor's bells were ringing, the sound echoing across the entire city and Sansa felt her stomach drop.

 _They are ringing the bells, but they only do that when there's an invasion or when-  
_

The King was dead, he must be. Sansa might have been confined to the Tower of the Hand for the past few weeks but surely she would have noticed if there had been an enemy at the gates, Jeyne would have heard something and told her. There would be chaos in the castle down below, as the defenders rushed about preparing themselves but aside from the bells, there was silence.

Lady padded over to her and licked at her hand and Sansa fell to her knees, wrapped her arms around Lady and buried her face into her neck. She knew she had to be brave, but she was frightened all the same. The King was dead and that meant that now Joffery was the king, and with that thought she had never wished more to back home in Winterfell.

She did not know how long she spent holding Lady to her, keeping her face buried into her neck. But the sound of footsteps made her pull her face away and get to her feet. She hoped that it was her Father, come to tell her that all was well. She hoped that it was Septa Mordane and Jeyne, who had been caught in a service to pray for the King's soul, she even hoped that it was Arya who had come to her for comfort as Sansa could at least try and be braver for her.

But it was none of them, it was someone she would not hope to wish for. It was Lewyn, grabbed in a silk shirt and black trousers with a sword belt around his waist. He looked worried, and Sansa wanted to hug him even tighter than she had done with Lady. She wanted to be held and have him stroke her hair and tell her that all would be well, even if it was a lie.

"My Lady." Lewyn breathed as he stepped into the room, Lady went over to him and rested her head against his leg. It was not the first time that her direwolf had done so and Lewyn would always smile and reached down to scratch behind her ears but he did not do so this time, this time his attention was focused on her and her alone. "You must come with me, and you must come with me now."

"Why? What is wrong?" Sansa asked as she stepped towards him, her hands clamped tightly in front of her. "What is happening? Is it the King, is he dead? My Father, he left and he would not tell me where and my Septa and my friend went to pray and they've not come back yet, is there a service for the King? Please tell me."

"My Lady, I do not know why they are ringing the bells. I am not much in favor at the moment, if something has happened to the King then I do not know what, but it seems as likely a guess as I have seen no armies outside the walls and no ships sailing into Blackwater Bay." Lewyn glanced over his shoulder. "My Lady, I will answer any question you have as best as I can, but I need you to come with me to where it is safer, where is your sister?"

"Arya? She's down below in the hall, with her dancing master." Sansa was so confused and she didn't know what to do, she did trust Prince Lewyn but her Father had commanded her not to leave the tower. "I cannot leave with you, my Father instructed me to remain until I return with him."

"My Lady." Lewyn took hold of her hand, and though his eyes were filled with desperation his touch was still as gentle and warm as every other time he had taken hold of her. "I know that asking you to defy your Father is a difficult thing for you to think of, and impertinent of me to ask. But I beg of you now, to please trust me. You need to come with me now."

Sansa looked into Lewyn's eyes, then looked down at Lady who was looking at the Dornish prince and did not growl at him and Sansa nodded and Lewyn let out a breath of relief and pulled her out of the chamber, Lady following after them.

A knight was on the stairs, it was Ser Aron who was the castle's master-at-arms and the only other Dornishman at court, when he saw them coming he turned and hurried down the stairs. "Lady Arya is in the hall!" He called down and when they reached the bottom of the stairs, they doors to the hall had been opened and Ser Aron was standing into front of her little sister and her little sister's dancing master.

She knew that her Father had hired a man to teach his youngest daughter how to dance, which was odd enough, but he had certainly not been what she had been expecting. When she heard that he had come the Free Cities, she expected a long tall man with sharp high features and long silver hair that spoke of their descent from Valyria.

The man was not that, he was short and more round than with a head full of brown curls and a slight smile on his face. He had a long wooden sword in his hands and so did Arya and had her Father known that this had been happening? Nymeria had padded forward, glancing between the two dornishmen with a weary look.

"Prince Lewyn?" Arya asked as she tilted her head to the side, confusion painted thickly on her face. "Sansa? What are you doing here, I'm in the middle of my lesson."

"Lady Arya, I am sorry but you need to come with us now. It is very important." Lewyn stepped forward but before he could get to close Arya's dancing master stepped in between them, raising his wooden sword and holding it towards him and seemingly without a care for the fact that his blade was wooden and the one on Lewyn's hip was real steel.

"And tell me, why would Lord Eddard send a Prince of Dorne, one who by all accounts that I have heard shamed his daughter greatly, to come and collect them instead of sending one of his own guards to do so?" The dancing master spoke, Sansa did not know his accent but it certainly sounded like nothing she had heard at court before.

"I did not say that Lord Eddard sent me, honored instructor, I would not lie about that. I merely said that Lady Arya must come with me, every moment she remains, that we all remain here, puts us in greater danger."

"Why would we be in danger?" Arya asked and Sansa wondered why she seemed so calm, had she not heard the bells? But then Sansa realized how young she was, she probably had never learned what the bells meant and her instructor was from across the sea and so he most likely did not know either, or he did and did not wish for Arya to worry so.

"I do not have time to explain Lady Arya." A note of frustration entered his voice, or maybe it was desperation, and he quickly glanced around the chamber before his eyes landed on Nymeria. He walked over to the she-wolf and knelt in front of her, holding out his hand. Sansa held her breath, Nymeria was not so gentle as Lady and was well capable of ripping his arm off.

Nymeria sniffed him for a moment and then licked him, and Sansa let out a sigh of relief. "Nymeria trusts me, Lady Arya, just as Lady does and I know that neither of them would allow any harm to come to you. I need you trust me as well, and I need for you to come with us to somewhere where it is safer for you?"

"You helped Mycah, I trust you." Arya said with a smile, one that Lewyn returned as he got to his feet.

"As do I." The dancing master spoke as he lowered his wooden blade, as if his opinion in that moment had mattered the most. "Well then, boy. Where is that we are going to?"

"The castle gates will be barred, but I know of a passage that can get us out of the castle. A ship is waiting for us, to carry us safely away."

"What about Father?" Arya asked and Sansa could not believe that she had almost forgotten.

"Your Father would want for you both to be safe, girl." The dancing master spoke as he laid a hand on her sister's shoulder. "We get you safely away from whatever danger is coming, which you boy had best not be lying about, and then we make certain that your Lord Father is safe, hm?"

"All right."

"All right then, we have to go now." Lewyn turned and walked out of the hall and all of them hurried after him, it was as quiet outside of the tower as it was inside and Lewyn held up his hand to stop them all before he turned to face them. "There are guards on the wall, too big a group would draw too much attention. We need to go slow, Ser Aron and I will go ahead first to get past the drawbridge of Maegor's and then the rest of you are to come. Slowly, one at a time."

"Do not act like anything is wrong as you walk, you are doing nothing wrong. Head high, you are simply going for a nice stroll." The dancing master spoke and once again Sansa had to wonder where her Father had found this man that knew that and spoke to people above him in such a way and held a practice sword like it was real steel.

Ser Aron and Prince Lewyn went across without incident, then it was Sansa's turn. She tried to keep control of her breathing as Lady walked alongside her, her eyes focused on Maegor's Holdfast and nothing else. All the same, it was the longest few moments of her life and she crossed the drawbridge she thought that she might break down crying.

When she crossed it, a sight she had not expected was waiting for her, Ser Aron and Prince Lewyn were standing over the body of a man clad in the white armor of a Kingsguard. "Is he?" Sansa asked, not wanting to finish the question.

"No, but no one would weep for Boros Blount." Ser Aron spoke and Lewyn glared at him and the master-at-arms let out a sigh and gave her a smile that might have been reassuring, if it was not so uncertain. "He only sleeps, Lady Sansa, he will wake not long from now no worse for the wear other than a sour head."

Well, that was something. Arya choose that moment to rush across the drawbridge as Ser Aron dragged Ser Boros further away from the drawbridge so he would not be easily seen by anyone on the walls and when her dancing instructor came, he raised an eyebrow at the sight but he did not press any objections.

It was a long journey through Maegor's then, the screaming started as they walked. The sound of steel and men dying and Sansa wanted to ask what was happening even if she truly did not wish to know. She didn't know which of them found the other's hand first, if she took Arya's hand or Arya took hers but either way the clung to the other like they had not done since they were small.

Prince Lewyn lifted a tapestry with the help of Ser Aron and then he pushed a stone in the wall further into it and with a deep thud, the wall slid inwards to revel a passage way. "There are no turns, so we won't get lost. All we have to do is walk straight ahead until we reach the stairs at the end, follow me." Lewyn stepped into the passageway, and all of them followed him as fast as they could.

There was light light and Sansa wished they had a torch but Lewyn seemed to know where he was going and he warned them when they would be coming up to the stairs, he must have been in this passageway before but why? Sansa did not know.

They followed the stairs down and then there was another passageway which lead to another set and so on and so on, it did not take long until Sansa's feet had started to hurt, terribly so as well. Thankfully, Lewyn told them that there were no more stairs then and that all they had to do now was simply walk down this last passage way.

It was so dark that Sansa couldn't see anything, she left her hand on Lewyn's back to steady herself which she hoped that he did not mind. She could smell something, the smell of salt on the air and it was fresher than it had been since the moment that they had first entered into the passageway.

A light was shinning at the end of the tunnel and a breeze rustled through Sansa's heir, somewhere a seagull was shrieking and standing in the sunshine and fresh air seemed to be the most beautiful thing that Sansa had ever known, far more than any pretty dress or great jewel.

A small boat was waiting for them, thankfully just big enough to carry all of them and if anyone could see them she imagined that they would make quite a sight. Two Dornishmen, a dancing master, two ladies and two larger than normal wolves. Ser Aron rowed them, and reminded them all that sound carried on water and thus to be as quiet as they could be.

As soon as they rowed far enough out that anything in the distance would just be a blur, a ship came into their view. A rope ladder was descended to them and Ser Aron climbed first and then Sansa, followed by Prince Lewyn and Arya's dancing master. Lady and Nymeria could not climb a rope ladder and so they had to be hauled up in a net. Sansa brushed Lady's hair and promised to make it up to her.

The ship was called the Feathered Kiss, a trader from the Summer Islands and it's captain was a woman with lovely dark curls that looked soft to the touch and skin that was as black as coal, her eyes were amber and as gentle as Sansa's own mother and when Lewyn gave the woman his thanks, his words to her were gentle.

Sansa walked over to ship's railing and looked out across the city, to where the Red Keep was still standing atop Aegon's High Hill, where her Father still was and where men were being butchered and her heart dropped again when she realized that she forget Jeyne and Septa Mordane, what if they were dead? It would be her fault, it was her fault.

"My lady, is all well?" Prince Lewyn asked of her as he stepped closer to her, his voice was as gentle as ever as he took her hand and Sansa was so tired and frightened that she forget all her courtesy and her dignity and began to cry as she told the truth.

"No, where are we going?"

Lewyn cupped her face and wiped away a tear, and when he spoke she could tell that he spoke only the truth. "Home."

End of Chapter Twelve

* * *

 **Well, there we are then. Another chapter done. Quite a few changes to canon, not the least of which that the Lannisters do not have a Stark daughter in their power? Or...do they, you never know where those can turn up after all.**

 **Anywho, I really hope they you enjoyed this chapter, and next chapter will be a Lewyn chapter and...I don't want to say anything without spoiling it. But we will get some answers to what may be the unanswered questions of this chapter.**

 **Consider leaving a review, a follow and a favorite if you would.**

 **With greatest regards,**

 **DiscordantSymphony**


	14. Chapter 13

The Prince of Dorne

Chapter Thirteen

Dorne was always and ever his home and the warmth of the sun on the back of his neck was so comforting that he almost forget that there had been a brief time when he had lived without it, in the distance he could hear the laughter of the children as they played in the orange tree groves and the fountains of the Water Gardens.

It felt good to be home, to be able to finally breath without having to be concerned that someone would take that moment to slide a dagger into his spine. Of course Dorne was dangerous in it's own ways, in some ways it was even more dangerous than King's Landing could ever hope to be. And it would prove to be that to him if his Father decided that what he had done was unacceptable.

He stood outside his Father's solar and waited for his summons, he knew Prince Doran well enough to know that the man was trying to intimidate him by making him wait and Lewyn wished that it didn't work as well as it did, but he knew better than most the the patient and meek man that his Father pretended to be was naught more than a mask.

The man underneath was more dangerous than his Uncle Oberyn could ever hope to be and Lewyn had learned long ago to be wary of him even if he liked to hope that his Father wouldn't hurt him, he knew that he could not be sure of that. His Father wanted vengeance for his sister and her children more than anything, everyone else would be thrown to the flames in order to get that.

Not that Lewyn could fully blame him, he wanted justice for his aunt and his cousins as well and he had risked his Father's wrath to get them one step closer to that. He still did not regret putting an end to the Mountain, he could never regret that. Even now, he remembered the weight of the lance in his hand, the sound it had made when it had smashed against his helm had been the sweetest sound that he had ever.

And it felt so right, he had not truly cared about the consequences before he had done it and after it was done and there was no chance of coming back from it. Whatever happened to him didn't matter, nothing mattered except that some small measure of justice had been done for his aunt and for her children.

It wasn't enough, it would not be enough until Ser Amory Lorch had been whipped naked through the streets before being drawn and quartered, it would not be enough until Casterly Rock was reduced to naught more than a pile of rubble, it would not be enough until Tywin Lannister was forced to watch as everything that he had spent his entire life working towards was brought to ruin and then before he was finally allowed to die in the worst way that Lewyn could think up.

Then, then it would be enough. When all the monsters were dead, then it stopped.

He had simply taken the first step on the path, the step that his Father had been planning for years and yet had done nothing to see them through it. He glanced out to the groves of blood orange trees, the fruit was swollen and more than a few had already fallen from the branches and splattered against the pink marble of the paths of the Water Gardens.

Such a waste, there should have been people with baskets walking under the trees ready to catch any that fell and to reach up to pick the ripest off of the branch. It was odd that his Father had not seen to that, he loved the Water Gardens more than anywhere else in Dorne after all and he had always ensured that it always ran smoothly with no issue.

No doubt his mind was a hundred years ahead of the rest of them, where they had already cast the Lannisters down from the Iron Throne and all the work had already been done and all of his plans had unfolded as he expected them to right down to the letter. Such a shame that they could not run ahead to that part in truth.

The door to the solar opened then and Areo Hotah stepped out, his great iron longaxe clenched tightly in his massive fist. The Captain of the Guard nodded to him and when he spoke, his words were few and to the point. "Your Father is ready to see you, my Prince." If Lewyn had any hope in guessing what to expect from his Father in Areo's words or tone or face then he was disappointed now, a stone would give more away at that moment.

Lewyn sighed heavily, nodded, and walked past the captain into the solar. The room was bright and airy, you could smell orange and jasmine and lemon and lavender in the air and in the distance you could hear the happy squeals of the children, both the highborn and the low, as they played in the pools and fountains and ran away from one another and hide among the trees as others tried to find them.

To some, it would seem perfectly pleasant but at that moment Lewyn would much rather be down deep in the Black Cells of the Red Keep rather than have to face Prince Doran Martell all on his own. He imagined that some might call him craven, or at the very least a fool, for being afraid of his own Father. After all he was an old tired man and crippled as well. Only a craven would find reason to be afraid of a man like that.

But none of them knew his Father, not like he did.

Even he had to admit, as he caught sight of him once he walked into the solar that Prince Doran did not look all that dangerous at all. His Father had never been a tall man and nor had he ever been the strongest either and the gout that has ravaged his body and had confined him to the wheeled chair that he now sat in had only made him all the weaker, all the smaller.

But his mind was as sharp as Valyrian steel, Lewyyn always had to take care when it came to dealing with his Father. He idled and waited and his plans never seemed to come to fruition but he was not a fool and one wrong word could see him undone and confined to his chambers in Sunspear for who know how long, maybe forever.

And that was only if he did not decide to have him sent of to Ghaston Grey.

Prince Doran did not look at him as he stepped closer, instead he picked up a game piece from a board in front of him on his desk, it was a little carved dragon. Ari had mentioned this to him in one of her letters, apparently it was a game that the entire court at Sunspear had gone mad for. Cyvasse, that was what it was called and it had come to them from one of the Free Cities but he couldn't remember which one at the moment.

"The dragon at a glance, seems like it is the most powerful piece in the game and how not? It can destroy most anything in it's path, but the catapult pieces and the trebuchet pieces can remove it. Powerful, is not invincible." His Father put the piece back down on the board and reached out for another, it looked like a king.

"I've been teaching Arianne and Trystane how to play, I allowed the both of them to beat me once. They are both very different players, your sister as soon as the game began came at me with everything she had. She put her dragon right in the front and sent it forth to devastate my pieces, her elephants then lead a charge to shatter my forces, what was left of them, I could not must a defense."

"Your brother, on the other hand, favored a more subtle approach. I was impressed, if I am to tell it true. He waited for me to make the first strike and made at first what I thought were wasteful counter attacks, taking pieces I thought were insignificant. But soon enough, my dragon was dead and my king was on the verge of being captured."

"Now, here is thing. Arianne only beat me the one time, but each time since she lost the first time she has gotten closer and closer to beating me again. Your sister can adept quickly, she knows that overwhelming force against me won't work anymore and so instead she must try something different in order to beat me. She hasn't yet, but she is getting close."

"Trystane on the other hand, has managed to beat me twice but has come no closer to defeating me again since the last time. You see, he keeps setting up his pieces in the same order, his plan was a clever stroke and it defeated me and he has not yet quiet grasped that such a tactic will not work against me again. Your brother can see how the pieces work, he can make himself a good plan, but he keeps expecting me to follow that plan."

"So, shall we play?" His Father asked as he gestured at the chair on the other side of the table.

"I do not know how too, Father." Lewyn said with a glare as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"You won't, not until you learn."

"All that same, I'd rather not. Thank you."

A heavy sigh. "Very well then." His Father put the King back down on the board and turned his head to him. "You do not wish to play the game with me, then let us speak. I have many questions and I expect them to be answered to a degree that pleases me, I warn you now Lewyn that my mood is not at it's best. Do not try and be clever."

"I sent you to King's Landing, into that viper pit, with a specific goal. Did I not do so? I told you that you were to find us friends, and to find any information that you thought could be useful against the Usurper. You were to remain there, quiet and polite and unassuming and to give no one any reason to complain about you, to object to your presence, can you see where this has gone somewhat wrong."

"Yes, you should have sent Quentyn." It wasn't helpful, in point of fact it was counter productive and it was childish but in that moment he found that he didn't care, if anyone was capable of bringing up the bit of himself that reminded him far too much of his uncle then it was his Father. He would not stand her meekly and be scolded like he was a child, he would not.

"You would have your brother be sent in your place, you should be careful what you hope for. Next time, it might be indeed him that I place my trust in." Doran said with a heavy frown. "Lewyn, I had plans that were in the making. Many of them have had to be changed due to your actions, you could have risked all for one moment of gratification."

Lewyn laughed then, a bitter thing that he did not like but he could not stop himself from laughing even when his Father glared at him. "Gratification, oh aye. I took a great deal of pleasure in finally putting an end to that monster. As most Dornishmen would, I have no doubt of that. But it wasn't about the pleasure of it, not in truth. It was about the fact that it was the perfect opportunity to do it."

"You've had plans since the day that the news came about Aunt Elia, since the day you told me what had happened." Even after all of this time, it was still the worst day of his life and even thinking about it made it hard to breath, but he had to keep going forward. "Plans and more plans, none of which you decide to share with me other than what I must now."

"And yet for all of these plans, nothing ever quite seems to come of them. It has been nearly ten and seven years since Elia and her children died and what have you done, what has changed? How closer are we now to justice?" He shook his head. "How long do we have to wait, another five years? Another ten? No, in one moment I got more justice for them, for all of them, than you ever did."

"There is being patient, and then there is doing nothing. Arianne uses overwhelming force, Trystane can't adapt when his first plan does not work. Do you wish to know what your problem is, my dear father? Your weakness when it comes to the game? You can't see when the time comes that you do need to act, your simply make your plans and wait as the time passes and opportunities are lost. When the blood oranges grow ripe, you must pick them. If you do not, then they will become overripe and fall from the branches, splattering against the ground and all will be lost."

There was a beat of silence then, his Father's hand coming up to cup his mouth for a moment. He pulled it away after another moment to speak. "You wrong me, you wrong me more than you can know." His eyes, green as moss, grew hard. "And I would remind you when you speak of Elia of that she was my sister long before she was your aunt, I want justice for her and for her children more than you can ever possibly understood but you haven't stopped to consider exactly what you've done. Gregor Clegane is dead, such a thing gives me more joy than you can possibly imagine. Elia has some small measure of justice now."

"But the man who butchered her babes is still alive and more out of our reach than ever before. And the man who gave the order, he will know of what you've done and any attempt we had at bringing an end to him is out of reach. We are not done, not even close to that." Prince Doran scoffed and turned his head to the side. "I've raised a fool."

"Lord Tywin is many things, but he never struck me as a man who would cower from his enemies. Even if he was, he may not have any choice when it comes to it. The usurper is dead, you must know that." The Queen would not be able to hide that, not for long at any rate but he somehow doubted that she would wish to. Her son would be king now.

Joffery Baratheon, first of his name. King of the Andals, the First Men and the Rhoynar. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Gods, help them all.

"A raven came, about a week before you came into dock at Planky Town." Doran tapped his fingers against his desk. "Lord Eddard Stark is a traitor to the realm, by all accounts. Imprisoned in the Black Cells as well, my friends tell me that there is unhappiness in the North about that. Banners have been spotted near the walls of Winterfell, it may be war."

Obara and Nym would be very pleased to hear that, Lewyn himself was not as pleased but it now seemed likely that it was the only way that there was ever to be true justice. "Not just between the Starks and the Lannisters, Stannis Baratheon has fled to Dragonstone and ignored all summons to return to the capital, Renly was plotting something as well but I do not know what. Who are we to side with?"

"No one."

"No one?" Lewyn repeated, certain that he must have misheard but his Father nodded his head once again. "You must be jesting, we can not do nothing. We must take a side, I dislike the idea of aiding anyone who shared blood with the man who climbed the throne over the corpses of children but we could join with the Starks, his heir is not a bad man. We could be helpful to one another, they can have their lord back and we get our justice."

"Winterfell and Sunspear, and our armies, are thousands of miles apart from one another. We are unlikely to be useful allies to one another. Regardless of that, my decision has been made. Dorne will remain neutral in this affair until I decide that is to be changed and not before, do you understand me? That is if to say if you have not already brought the wrath of the Lannisters down upon us with your foolishness."

Well, he knew that he was not speaking of Ser Gregor Clegane when he said that. He knew that it was coming, of course it was but he had hoped that he might be able to put it off for at least a little while longer. "You could feel in the air that something was wrong, I did not fancy becoming a hostage in the Red Keep, history repeating does not interest me. I would think that you of all people would not wish me to remain there either."

"I have no true objection to you getting yourself out of it, in point of fact I thought that your extraction of yourself from it was quiet cleverly done in point of fact." Lewyn couldn't deny, he had been proud of himself for thinking the plan up as well. A letter to Dorne, asking for a ship to come and collect him would no doubt cause him a great deal of scrutiny as well as no doubt seeing him confined to his chambers within the Red Keep.

But a letter to a friend in Oldtown asking about their Mother and if she had seen her lately, well such a letter wouldn't gather all that much attention. Thankfully, Sarella was smarter than anyone he had ever known and she had been able to see what he had been asking for and of all his cousins, Sarella was the only who kept in near constant contact with her mother, who just happened to be a trader from the Summer Isles who had a ship.

A week before they escaped, he had meet Sarella's mother in a winesink in Flea Bottom. They had never meet one another before that day but he was only the Dornish man there and she was the only woman from the Summer Isles, they got quite a few dirty looks as he recalled, but she had agreed to come to King's Landing as a favor to her daughter.

The plan was settled then, the Feathered Kiss would remain in port for half a moon while Lewyn made plans to get out as painlessly as he could but of course things never worked out as you hoped they would and the Lannisters and the Starks got closer and closer to mauling one another he had to accelerate his plans to get out.

And it had worked, he got out and he was alive. But he knew that was not the part his Father objected to.

"We could have explained away you leaving the Red Keep, perhaps the Queen Regent might not even truly care, but both she and the new king absolutely would care when you choose to steal away both of the Stark girls, considering that one of them is his betrothed." His glare got even more intense and for a moment, Lewyn's mask slipped and he wasn't able to stop himself from flinching slightly. "I heard about what else happened at the tourney for the Hand of the King, that I cannot understand. That, I cannot call anything more than madness."

It was stupid, it was madness. Lewyn had no other way to explain it as he looked back on it now. "I was the victor, they gave me the crown. I had to crown someone with it."

A cold note entered Prince Doran's voice then when he spoke. "Yes, and you could have crowned anyone in the stands that day. Anyone would have been better to crown than her, it was idiotic and I expected better of you. I expected you not to compete at all, I wanted you to not draw any attention to yourself. You've been foolish."

Lewyn opened his mouth to speak then but he shut his mouth when Prince Doran held up his hand to stop him. "I do not wish to hear it, the Stark girls are here and there is nothing we can do about that. I am not certain if it will work but for the moment our best option would seem to be to play ignorant. The fact that you disappeared from the Red Keep at the same time as the Starks is nothing but a very strange coincidence, and nothing more than that."

"Now, I think that is enough for the day. What is done, would seem to be done. I will be heading back to Sunspear on the morrow, go and see to your guests." The prince shrugged his shoulders, and then winced in pain as his gout flared. "They are here now, House Martell will never be said to lack in hospitality. Go."

Lewyn nodded and left the solar, even though the sky was a clear blue for miles in every direction and the sun was blazing bright he felt as though he had just been forced under a dark cloud that would never seem to lift.

He tried to at least pretend that he was not so incensed when he walked into the chambers that the steward of the Water Gardens had given to Sansa and Arya when they had arrived at the Water Gardens. He smiled when his eyes landed on Sansa.

The dress she wore was a light linen and left her shoulders and arms bare, she had not enjoyed the thought of wearing it but after nearly two hours of suffering in the heat under even the light silk of her gown she had capitulated and put the linen on. She looked as lovely in that as she ever did in any silk or velvet, her long red hair instead of being under a hairnet was bound into a long braid which hung lazily over her shoulder.

She turned to face him as he walked in and rose to meet him, a sweet smile on her face. "Is your Father well, my prince?"

"As well as he can be, his gout troubles him a little." Lewyn walked over to the table in the middle of the room where a pitcher of lemonsweet and plates filled with fruit waited for him, he poured himself a glass and picked a few grapes which he popped in his mouth before chasing them down with the drink. "And you, have you enjoyed your day so far my Lady?"

Sansa shrugged as she did everything else, delicately. "I suppose, I did some more needlework and Arya is practicing with her sword master again near the pool, well one of them. Poor Lady and Nymeria aren't made for this heat at all, I don't think anyone could get them out of the pools before they were ready if you tried. I read a little as well, and I lounged." Her features took on a pensive look then. "Did your Father mention if he would allow us to send letters back home yet?"

Ah gods, he had meant to ask about that and yet he had let go of him temper and completely forget about it. He wouldn't lie to her about that, it wasn't fair. "I hope my Lady will forgive me, I am afraid that I forgot to ask him." The disappointed look in her eyes then was enough to crush him. "He is returning to Sunspear on the morrow, but I swear to you now that I will wake early in the morning and ask him. If I forget then I will never forgive myself, so I won't."

Sansa smiled at him then and he knew that he would have to keep going and tell her the whole truth, it was awful but it seemed that he could not find it in himself to be able to lie to her. "I won't lie to you my Lady, I do not think that he will allow it. He is concerned for what would happen to Dorne if House Lannister learned that you and your sister were here, when things have settled down then of course and we can then work on getting you back home."

Sansa sighed and he could tell that she was disappointed but she didn't forget her courtesies, he wished that she knew that she did not have to wear such armor with him. That she could rage and scream and cry if that was what she wished to do and that no one else would ever need to know about it and that he must certainly would never judge her for it. "I thank you for telling me the truth my Lord."

"Have...have you heard any news, as pertains to my Father?"

A part of him, a strong part did not wish to tell her but lying to her would only spare the short term in the pain. In the long run, it would not help her at all. "I...I'm afraid that the crown has declared him as a traitor to the crown." A loud gasp interrupted him and her eyes were already wet with tears that were running down her cheeks.

 _She's crying, I made her cry._

"It is a lie my Lady, anyone who knows your Father knows that it is a lie." He may not have the greatest of opinion of Lord Eddard when it came to how he had supported his friend through it all, but anyone could tell that the man would rather die than betray his friend. Lewyn stepped forward and rested his hands on Sansa's shoulders.

Sansa cried and lunged forward and buried her face into his chest and wrapped her arms around and Lewyn slowly wrapped his arms around her and held her tight to him. "All will be well my Lady, he will be fine and you'll both be back home safely before you know that anything has happened I swear to you."

 _Mother above, please don't make me have told her a lie._

They stood there together for a very long time, but when she pulled away from him Lewyn would not deny that he did so with a great deal of reluctance on his part. "Is there anything that I might get you, anything at all?"

She glanced down at her feet for a moment and when she looked back up, her face had flushed red and he wondered if the heat was too much for her. "Would you...would stay with me, for a little bit longer if you have nothing that calls to your attention urgently. I-I would not like to be alone and knowing Arya, she won't be back till the moon hangs high in the sky."

"My Lady, I won't leave you till you wish me to go." He guided Sansa back to the lounger and sat down next to her and they spoke of things that he would not be able to remember later, but the time passed quickly and they both laughed quite a great deal and he had been able to make her smile and if he had made her woes for even a moment, then it was all for the good.

At some point, one of them had taken hold of the other's hand and they had not let go.

End of Chapter Thirteen

* * *

 **Woof, okay.**

 **Huge swing of emotions here, obviously Lewyn has some issues with his dad. Doran, as evidence with Arianne and Quent in canon, can be kinda a pretty shitty parent at times even if he does without a doubt love his kids.  
**

 **I also am really enjoying writing Lewyn and Sansa's interactions and I hope you are enjoying reading them as well, I don't want to rush right the way into romance and I hope it's at least somewhat realistic.**

 **Also, you can bet Arya is loving being in Dorne even if she is really worried about her dad at the mo and I think maybe you can expect a POV chapter from her in the future and maybe some interaction with the Sand Snakes in the future, Obara and Lady Nym were both originally going to make an appearance in this chapter but it wasn't quite working out so that got changed but you will see them pretty soon.  
**

 **At any rate, the next chapter is def going to be a Sansa POV chapter and I really hope that you will look forward to it and like it, I honestly am really enjoying writing Sansa. She is one of my favorite characters to read but I never quite thought I would enjoy writing her, but I really think that I am and I hope she seems in character.  
**

 **Any who, with a ton of love and hoping you'll review, follow and favorite,**

 **DiscordantSymphony**


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